


this is the rhythm of the night

by smallbeans



Series: the rhythm of the night [1]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Captivity, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hunters, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mates, On the Run, Vampire Newt, Vampires, War Between Species, Werewolf Hunters, Werewolf Thomas, Werewolves, Werewolves vs. Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 08:44:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8660386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallbeans/pseuds/smallbeans
Summary: During Newt's escape of his clan, where he was being into a forced marriage, Newt trespasses onto werewolf territory and gets imprisoned in their camp. While there, he is bitten and mated to a wolf, claiming they did it to save his life. Newt is thrown, determined to find an escape and break away from his imprisonment. But soon, Newt find himself no longer seeing the wolf camp as a prison, but as a safe haven.





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Interspecies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4937572) by [newtntommy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtntommy/pseuds/newtntommy). 



> Title: Of The Night by Bastille.

Newt couldn't remember how long he'd been running. His legs quivered as he slowed to a walk, his knees trembling with exhaustion. His lungs were on fire but he couldn't stop. He could never stop.

How could they do this to him? How could _Alby_ do this to him? He thought they had a better relationship than that. He didn't think, he didn't imagine, that Alby would force Newt into marriage with someone they didn't even know enough to consider them allies.

The conversation Newt and his sister had, the morning before he ran, still haunted his mind. The way Sonya was so willing to hand Newt over, like he was nothing but a slice of cake.

_"You don't understand, Newt. This isn't something you can back out of."_

_"I shouldn't even have to back out of something like this. I'm being forced!"_

_Sonya pursed her lips. "I know you are. Its not even that bad-"_

_"Not that bad? Okay, how about you marry someone you've never met, by force, and move into a new pack who you don't even know aren't going to maul you the moment you step over the territory line!" Newt exploded. His hands had been shaking with anger. His control was thinning and he didn't even think about who he'd hurt if he couldn't stop himself._

_"Newt, you're making a bigger deal than necessary. Its only marriage."_

_"Only marriage? You know its more than that, Sonya." Newt deflated. "How would you feel if you were being sent away with someone you don't know? Being forced to love them? How would you feel if you had to leave me?"_

_Sonya stared at him for a moment. Her expression solid and unreadable. He hated that about his sister. Her emotions were a void, no one could recognise them from her face or posture. Newt, however, was like an open book. Even if you didn't know him, you could tell exactly what he was feeling._

_Sonya replied, but her voice was empty, "I'd do it for the clan."_

Newt hadn't talked to Sonya since then. He'd left three hours later, when everyone was sleeping. Of course his sister would put the clan before herself. Even if she was thrown in a cage with a rabid beast, she'd still find a way to come out on top. The only problem was Sonya wasn't being forced into marriage. Abby hadn't even thought about putting Sonya in that position. Would he make her now Newt was gone?

Newt wouldn't let his conscious talk him out of this. He was leaving, running as far as he could go because there is no way in hell that he was going to be forced into a freaking marriage. Sonya was strong anyway, far stronger than him, she could handle herself.

He walked on, the sun was setting, sinking to the horizon line like a falling leaf. Through the trees, Newt could see the yellow sky, soft like melting butter. The air was light and warm, a typical summers day - if you're not running for your damn freedom like Newt is.

His shoes brushed over the dusty dirt, dry and cloudy when it was upturned by his lagging movements. He'd been on the move for over a day now, not resting for long than a minute. He had no idea if the clan were behind him, following his steps and tracking his scent. He didn't care, they can look for all they want but by sunrise, his scent will be fading and they'll never get a clear trail.

Newt couldn't decide if he thought they'd be looking for him. Part of him, a fragment, hoped they would be. They'd be looking high and low, ripping apart the woods in search for their lost second. A pang of hurt strung through him like someone plucked a heartstring. Would they be looking for him? Of course they would, Alby would never let Newt go. Newt was his second, he was his best friend-

He was getting rid of Newt anyway. He was willing to marry off his best friend.

"They'll be looking," Newt told himself. "If Alby isn't, then Sonya and Aris defiantly are."

It was another hour before the sky became a void of light, nighttime rolling in. The sun abandoned the sky, replaced by the sallow moon and white glow. Away from the lights, surrounded by nothing but darkness, Newt could see the stars. He stopped for a moment, neck bent sharply backwards as he stared up at the sight of twinkling white specs, shining in glory amongst the depressing blue of nighttime.

It was peaceful where he was. Silent, and content. There was no lights, no burning fire for warmth or cooking. The Whitelock vampire clan was very old-fashioned, not even investing in a working kitchen with a oven, because, what are vampires meant to cook? They drank blood, they didn't need to physically cook unless it was for enjoyment. Newt remembered being confused when they visited founding vampire clans, being introduced to a 'kitchen' for the first time had resulted in a tidal wave of questions, forcing Alby to explain that they didn't need a kitchen, just blood.

Being so far from light made the stars stand out more. Newt stared up, feeling himself slowly become at ease. He felt as if he wasn't on the run for his freedom, for his salvation. It was a swelling feeling, warm and spreading in his chest.

Newt sighed heavily, still staring up to the sky when a twig snapped behind him.

He spun around as fast as light, eyes bleeding black and scanning the dark trees. The glow of the moon offered little light, and vampires didn't have the enhanced sight abilities other supernaturals did.

If he had a heartbeat, it would be beating incredibly fast.

Another twig snapped, this time behind him again. He spun, seeing nothing but black. His claws slipped out of his fingers. If it was another vampire, Newt had a chance. He'd been taught well, grew up amongst his family and pack mates where they had evenly challenged each other for practise.

But if this was a werewolf, Newt had better chance battling death itself. Werewolves were just as fast, more brutal and stronger. Their claws were unlike vampire claws, thick and large, unlike vampires which were thinner and sharper, only made for small cuts. Its vampire instinct to reserve as much blood as possible when fighting, but werewolves instincts are to kill kill kill.

Newt knew he was being faced with a flight or fight decision. His brain was too sleep deprived to work it out, and instead just settled on flight. If it was a vampire, it was most likely from the Nightlock clan and fighting them would only resolve in the rest of the pack coming and taking him home. And if it was a wolf, then Newt had no chance at all.

He spun around, dashing through the trees as fast as his aching legs could take him. It was a moment before he heard the sound of heavy footsteps behind him. Every thump of the attackers footsteps that echoed off the ground was like a gun shot ringing through the forest.

The exhaustion that clasped him earlier was washed out with sudden adrenaline. His legs picked up the pace, running for his damn life gave him impressive motivation to _run faster._

Newts eyes were set on a clearing in the trees, a yellow glow of lights in the distance when suddenly, the floor beneath his feet disappeared and he was slamming onto his back. The wind was violently knocked out of him, lungs and chest crushed under the heavy weight on top of him. His head spun, vision swimming with black spots as he opened his eyes to find a face with glowing yellow eyes snarling down at him.

_Werewolf. Fabulous._

Newt began to prepare himself for death, for the excruciating pain of having his skin torn and insides spilled onto the forest floor when the weight got off his chest, hands gripping his shoulders and pulling him roughly to his knees.

Newt, foolishly, attempted to run at that point and resulted in the wolf tightening its clawed hand around his shoulders, piercing the skin. Newt hissed, in both pain and warning. His head was throbbing, as was his back. He was almost certain that was going to bruise. He doesn't have enough blood in his system to heal himself at the moment.

"Good job, Ben," someone said in front of them.

Newt looked in the direction just in time to see two figures step out of the shadows.

The older one stepped up, stalking closer to Newt in the only way that screamed 'wolf'. Newt tensed when the wolf was close enough for his hot breath to be felt on Newts face.

"Wanna explain to me what you're doing on my land, hermano?"

Newt frowned. Land? "What?"

The wolf rolled his eyes. "You're trespassing, _vampire_ ," the wolf said the last word with a visible amount of disgust.

Oh, shit. Newt mentally cursed himself. Of course, judging his luck, he'd wander onto werewolf territory. "I'm sorry, I didn't-"

The wolf barked out a harsh laugh, echoing through the trees. He looked down at Newt, grinning sadistically. "You've made a big mistake, hermano," Newt almost threw up when the wolfs eyes flashed a ruby red. Alpha. " _Big_ mistake,"

"What'd you want to do with him?" The wolf - Ben - asked from behind him, his tight grip still secure on Newt's shoulders.

The alpha tilted his head - _like an actual fucking dog!_ \- and hummed. "Take him back to camp. We'll deal with him there,"

Newt didn't get a word out before something was hitting him harshly over the head, sending him spawling onto the dirty forest floor. The blow added with the hit from early when he'd been tackled was like a lullaby. Newt was overcome with a overwhelming urge of unconsciousness.

Blackness was crawling in and he barely heard the last words.

"What are you going to do with him?" Someone asked, his voice wasn't one Newt had heard, so he assumed it was the person who stood silently behind the alpha.

"Whats necessary."

And then Newt blacked out.

*

When Newt came to, he was surrounded by wolves.

He's woken by a sharp slap to the face, a burning sting in his cheek as his head whipped to the side with the force of the action. He gasped, for both breath and in pain. His head was throbbing vigorously, as was his cheek.

He'd been taken back to some kind of camp, he could tell from what he could see. Around him, sheltering himself and the wolves around him was what looked like a straw hut, a shack-like-building. In front of where Newt had been seated, was a semi-circle of different levelled stands were boisterous werewolves stood. Newt knew there was more, he could hear more heartbeats outside. What filled his ears now, however, was the blood pumping inside their bodies. The warm pulses that throbbing in their necks. It had been days since Newt had fed and his control was lacking more than when he last spoke to Sonya.

Newt felt intimidated by the crowd around him. He'd never met a wolf before, let alone a pack of them on foreign territory.

"Alright, quieten down," The alpha, Jorge, said. Though he didn't say in an order, the wolves stopped talking. Newt was surprised. He thought werewolves took much more to follow a simple command.

"State your name and pack."

Newt stared at him. What was this, some kind of interview? He licked his lips with a dry tongue and said, "my name is Newt, and I'm from the Night Walkers Clan."

Newt physically jumped when the hall erupted in low growls. He knew the wolves recognised the name, their instincts kicking in at the mention of their arch enemy. For centuries, the Night Walkers Clan and the wolves have been at war with each other, a set territory line drawn between them. It was basically suicide to cross it.

And of course, Newt had.

 _Big mistake._ Jorge's words echoed in Newts head.

"Quiet down," Jorge growled, voice sharper and louder than before. Everyone silenced immediately, but the waves of anger and hatred came rushing at Newt is thick waves.

"You crossed the border, blood-sucker," Jorge said. He walked slowly around Newt in a circle, his hands clasped behind his back. "Do you know what the punishment is for trespassing into wolf territory?"

Newt swallowed thickly. He knew the punishment, the recite of it had been drilled into his head. His mother had practically made him repeat it every night, as if knowing it off by heart was going to make the punishment any less terrifying or painful.

The punishment, was death by the land owners choice. The wolves could decide his death in anyway they wanted. They could cut his skin to ribbons, they could tie him up and leave him to starve, they could eat him, torture him. They could do whatever their hearts desired, and no one outside could do anything about it.

"I know," Newt replied. He hated how thin his voice sounded.

Jorge stood in front of him. He leant down, grinning sadistically. "Good. I'm glad you know that there is nothing your ravenous pack can do to save your life now."

"They wouldn't do anything anyway." Newt said. His voice held more fire now, dripping with venom. He didn't want to go into detail about his situation.

"Even better," Jorge said before he stood up straight, looking at the wolves around them. "I've brought you all here for this trial today to decide what we do with this trespasser. As usual, the rights are the same. Option one, punishment by death. Quick and tidy, body buried in the woods and the business goes unofficial. Option two, we make an example. Send something back to the vampire clan and show them that this is still our land and trespassing is punishable by death. Or option three, we use him as bait to make truce."

The room erupted in noise again. Newt only heard snippets, and he heard a fair share of each suggestion being agreed with. His gut was pooling with dread, spikes of nausea twisting like a tightening rope in his stomach. He was almost sure he was going to throw up.

Jorge silences then again and Newt is sure, if it was possible, he'd be having a heart attack at how nervous he is. He can feel the tremble in his limbs, the weakness of his joints. Anxiety and nerves grip him at every spec of skin, clamps closing in on his chest and squeezing the air out of him.

Jorge seems to have made up his mind, looking at various people in the room with small nods.

And then he looks Newt dead in the eye.

"Newt of the Night Walker Clan, you are being punished by death."

Newt barely registers the roar of cheers before he's making a split second decision. No way is he being killed, made na example of because he'd been run out of his own home. He wasn't even alive when the truce was made, the hell he should be punished by it.

A hiss slips past Newts teeth. His defences are building, and he can feel his fangs forming and pressing against his lower lip. His claws spout out, hands curling at his sides. He stands up abruptly when the roars break out even louder, he gets ready to fight, to survive, when suddenly, a pair of teeth latch onto his neck.

He catches the sight of the brunettes face, pale and scared, before white-hot pain blinds his vision.

An explosion flares from the bite, like electric shocks bursting down his spine. His skin feels like its on fire, bullets running through his veins. He opens his mouth to scream, but barely gets a wheeze out before the world is turning back and the last thing he sees is Jorge's shocked face blurring into the shadows.

*

Crawling back to consciousness is a troubled task. It was like he was running on stones, his feet sliding underneath him, never gaining proper balance. He was scrambling, floating in a void of black. Theres a fire running through his bones, a heavy weight to his limbs. His head is pounding, stomach rolling but its nothing compared to the explosions in his neck. Theres a pulsing white hot pain radiating from there, his skin burning. He can feel the trembles in his body and he realises he's laying down, and then the world is spinning again even though he hasn't opened his eyes. He's out again before he can even worry about where he is.

*

When he wakes a second time, he's burning up.

The first thing he's aware of is how badly his skin hurts, _everywhere_. It feels like it should be crackling - like he's on fire, like he could _die_ from it. There's sweat rolling off him like he's had water dumped on him.

And then he notices the shaking. His teeth are chattering like he's walking clothe-less in snow, which is confusing as he's certain he's about to die from being burned as his skin is literally on fire. Newt barely has time to worry about how long he's gone without blood before the pounding pain in his neck makes itself known. It hurts just as much as it did before he passed out the first time.

His eyes are still closed, unable to open them, but he's almost sure he can hear people talking. Theres a murmur of voices, he's sure of it, yet he can't hear them clearly. Its like their voices are being blocked from something, like he's standing at the end of a tunnel and their distance echoes.

He barely has time to whimper, the sound barely reaching his own cotton-blocked ears, before he's being dragged back under again.

*

When he wakes next, its almost sudden, like he's being ripped from his rest violently. There isn't a slow paced crawling back to consciousness, or a dragging come-to. Its instant.

He opens his eyes with a start, and audible groans when the world swarms and his stomach turns. He's grateful to find himself already on his side, because he's pretty sure he's going to throw up with the waves of nausea hitting him full force.

The pain tackling his aching bones is gone, as are the tremors and cold sweats drenching his body. His clothes feel damp and sticky, which makes him think the sweating didn't stop too long ago. He feels almost numb, the only thing to feel is the pulsing pain in his neck and the gnawing hunger eating his stomach from the inside out.

How long has it been since he's eaten?

His eyes slowly regain focus again and he realises he's laying on a bed - although it can barely cast as a bed, its only a blanket on the cold concrete floor. He slowly sits up, the world swimming again and black spots dancing in his vision. When they clear, Newt comes to the dreadful conclusion he's been thrown in a cell. The four, plain grey walls staring back at him tell him so. The cell is small, barely the width of his blanket bed and only a few feet long. At the opposite end to him is a barred wall, like something out of a prison.

Prison. Thats what this is. Its a freaking werewolf prison.

Fuck.

"Help," he says, but it comes out as a pathetic croak that scratches his throat like sandpaper. Tears blur his vision and its only then that he realises his face feels crusty with dried tears. When had he been crying? He swallows, grimacing at the twinge it brings. "Help! Someone, please! Help!"

He shouts and croaks for a full two minutes before theres a slam somewhere far away, the sound echoing as if it was bouncing down a narrow corridor. Footsteps follow and Newt is barely registering the company before someone is standing on the other side of the barred wall.

"Help me," Newt sobs, tears tracking his dirty cheeks. He feels pathetic, scared and in pain. "P-Please."

The member on the other side of the wall sighs and Newt catches the glimpse of Asian features before something is being thrown through the bars. It lands on the concrete floor with a loud slap, and Newt is scrambling for it before he realises its a bag of blood.

His thin, sharp claws are out before he can stop himself and he's ripping the top of the bag off with his teeth. Blood pools out, drenching the side of the bag and his fingers before his mouth is latching on, sucking for the life of him.

He hears a groan and someone muttering "Thats disgusting," but he doesn't care. He barely even registers it, or the footsteps descending, because this is the first thing he's eaten in days - or it would be weeks, he doesn't know. He's practically moaning into the bag, draining it dry in minutes. He hadn't realised how hungry he really was, but now the feeling was at ease.

Exhaustion hits him like a tidal wave and he's barely back on the blanket before the world is black again.

*

When Newt comes to, again, he feels some what better. Theres still a ache to his muscles, but he doesn't feel so weighed down. His skin tingles more than it burns, apart from the wound site on his neck that pounds profusely.

He's aware of the voices before he opens his eyes. Its more clear now, like the fog clouding his ears has disappeared. He cracks his eyes open, squinting in the dim darkness to see someone sitting outside his cell on a fold-out wooden camp chair. Their looking at someone out of Newts visibility, but theres an echo of oncoming footsteps and a voice that breaks the silence.

"How's he doing?"

That voice. _That_ voice. Newt recognises it.

"He's been quiet since we fed him. No more crying." The boy, Newt sees the Asian features again in the small light outside his cell. Newt doesn't know how he is, but he's the person who brought him the blood earlier. Newts assuming he's guarding him, or watching him.

Someone else is suddenly there with him, their pale skin glowing in the light and Newt is suddenly filled with rage. The memory of the boys face, his white fangs coming towards him and the sudden burst of pain registers his mind in a cloud of hatred and fire.

The world tilts when he's vertical and he's almost back on his ass. He finds balance at the last minute and storms towards the bars, a growl on the tip of his tongue.

"What did you do to me?" Newt sneers, voice low and scratchy but he doesn't care because this dog has done this to him.

The drastic movements pull on his body, his neck twitching and throbbing horribly but he doesn't back down because this mutt needs to admit to his crimes.

The pale boy doesn't answer. His face hasn't even changed from the blank expression. Newt can see emotion swimming in his eyes, but he's too angry, vision red, to even classify the emotion he sees.

"Answer me, you coward!" Newt screams. His voice bounces off the walls like a mechanic laugh. Its almost terrifying.

But then the boy is walking away without a word. He's walking away from Newt without explaining and Newt barely has time to scream at him again before the Asian boy is standing up and approaching the bars.

Newt takes a few cautionary steps back when the Asian pulls the barred door open. His fangs pop out, ready to fight when a fist comes swinging towards him. His reflexes are too slow to stop it. He feels the impact of the knuckles colliding against the side of his head and he's out before he hits the floor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to wish everyone a (late) Merry Christmas! I hope you all had the time of your lives, surrounded by loved ones and cherishing every moment. Each one of you deserve happiness, and I hope you got that. For anyone who doesn't celebrate Christmas, for whatever reason, I still hope you had a positive and magical day :)
> 
> Leave kudos and comments loves!


	2. chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First update of 2017, whoop!

When Newt comes to again, he's not surprised to see himself still in the cell.

His head pounds vigorously, face feels like its swollen and fat but he's almost certain its not. He checks, just is case, and winces when his fingers brush over the tender flesh around his eyebrow. The Asian sure did a number on him, and the lack of blood or feeding is slowing his healing pace. Also, the fucking pulse pounding in his neck is still there, though now much less fiery, it was still there.

Newt growled at the memory of the Asian punching him to oblivion, and the moments before when that fucking brunette ignored his questions.

Newt rolled onto his back, and that was when he realised he wasn't even laying on the blanket. Instead, he was were he'd dropped: on the cold, hard concrete floor of his prison cell. He sat up slowly, feeling the blood rushing to his ears. The sensation was dizzying, and his stomach rolled with it. He was hungry again, the emptiness spreading through him like he was a scooped out jack-o-lantern.

His vision was blurry, but he could see the form of someone sitting in the chair beyond his cell bars.

"Hey." Newt called out. His voice was hoarse again, tongue heavy and throat rough. He'd kill for a glass of water.

"What?" The Asian snapped, he looked up from whatever he was reading. Newt almost laughed at the sight of him: one leg crossed over the other, looking perched and almost posh. It didn't suit him.

"Wheres that pale guy?" Newt asked. He wanted to the see the other boy, get some answers and punch the guy senseless for doing this to him.

The Asian rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh and looked down at what he was looking at before.

Newt growled through gritted teeth. Were werewolves always this difficult and too undeveloped to answer a fucking question?

Newt pushed himself onto his feet, feeling himself sway when the suddenly position change made everything spin. He steadied himself on the cell wall before moving towards the bars.

"Hey, wolf," Newt said, clasping his hands around two of the bars and leaning his forehead against the cool metal. "D'you know how to answer a question?"

"Don't call me wolf."

"Well, I don't exactly know your name."

"You don't need to. You just need to sit down and shut up."

Newt scoffed. "And why would I sit down and let you guys beat me?"

"We haven't 'beaten you'."

"Yes, you have. You've starved me and fucking punched me." Newt growled. He was getting sick of this back and forth. Werewolves were stupid, it was official.

"Yeah, 'cause you're an asshole who needed to be taught a lesson." The Asian snapped. He threw down his paper on the floor next to the chair and stood up.

"For what?"

"Calling Thomas an asshole."

Thomas. So that's what the pale boy is called.

"I can call him what I want."

"You should be thankful!" The Asian yelled. He looked like he was becoming increasingly frustrated.

"Why? Because you kidnapped me, bit me and threw me in a fucking cell?" Newt yelled back. His loud voice echoed off the walls and he suddenly wondered if there were other cells around him, or if he was all alone on this level.

"You were trespassing on our territory," he narrowed his eyes and stalked closer. "Did you expect us to let you go?"

"I didn't know it was your territory." Newt said.

"Man, Jorge wasn't kidding when he said vampires are brain dead."

Newt seethed. "The only reason I'd ever be brain dead is because of the harassment you're giving me,"

"I only hit you because you were an ass to Thomas."

"He deserves it."

"He's the last person who deserves your shit. You'd be dead now if it wasn't for Thomas."

Newt narrowed his eyes and glowered. "I'd rather be dead than here."

That seemed to catch the Asian by surprise - really? Had Newt not made it obvious enough?

They were silent, until the Asian suddenly moved. Newt literally flinched at the first jerk on the Asians action, but all he did was turn and walk away, the sound of a heavy metal door opening and slamming stunned Newt.

He was alone, yet again.

*

Newt stays in the cell for a while longer. He has no idea how long he's in there now. There isn't a window in the entire of his floor, only a dim light on the wall outside his cell, which doesn't even light up the inside of his prison room.

He's only been fed one more time since the first, and by the time the Asian comes back, he's starving to the point of whimpering.

During his week, however, Newt has learnt a few things. From chatting to the Asian, who Newt had found out was called Minho, Newt has found out he's in fact, still in the werewolf camp, they won't be executing him or killing him anymore, and also that Minho is the only person he has met since his captivity. Thomas hasn't made a reappearance, although Newt is pretty sure the pale boy has been coming when Newt is asleep, because there's always a faint fresh smell of him in the mornings.

Newt is laying on his blanket when the door at the end of the hall opens. He doesn't even bother getting up, knowing it will probably be Minho who's come back to sit and brood in silence in the chair.

What does surprise Newt, is when he looks to see a girl standing on the other side of the bars. He doesn't move for a moment, frozen stiff and he isn't sure why. The new company is almost nerve-wracking.

"Uh..." Newt begins, because the silence is literally suffocating.

The sound of keys jingling fills the cell before the barred door is being slid to the side. "Come on, today's your lucky day."

Newt sat up. "You're letting me go?"

The girl scoffed. "Don't be stupid. Jorge's invited you to eat with everyone. Come on, or we're gonna be late and everything will be cold."

Then the girl turned and she was gone. Newt stayed sitting, slightly shell shocked. The sound of the girls voice calling him again had him scrambling to his feet like a trained dog. Huh.

He took a cautionary step out of the cell, quite bewildered that he was outside of the place he'd been seeing for days on end. He found the girl standing by a huge and heavy metal door at the end of a narrow corridor, about five steps from his cell door.

She was looking at his expectantly. "Do vampires take this much time for everything?"

Newt glared. "No. I'm just making sure this isn't some kind of trap or test."

"Why would we test you? And if we wanted to set up a trap, we would have done it ages ago. Now come, times-a wasting."

The girl leads him out the door, which leads to a large stair case that spirals up. Newt is puffing and breathing heavily when they get to the top.

"Whats your name?" Newt asked.

"Brenda."

"Right, Brenda," Newt sighed. "Can you please tell me why I have to eat with you?"

"Jorge wants you to get used to living with us." Brenda answered, leading him out a door at the top of the stair case. They entered into what looked like a cabin, all wooden floor and walls. Newt looked around in wonder, it was such a contrast against the dull, concrete stone he'd been surrounded by. He followed Brenda down a long corridor with a series of closed doors down it.

"And why would I need to do that?" Newt asked.

Brenda sighed in front of him, as if she was already tired of the conversation. "Because you can't leave."

"What do you mean?" Newt asked, loudly and sharply. "Why can't I-"

Brenda turned around suddenly and Newt barely stopped himself from walking into her. She was smaller than him, and now he could see her in proper light, he could see her tanned features, short brown hair and big brown eyes. She could look almost innocent to the naked eye, but Newt knew what she was.

"Look, just drop it. Okay? You're not leaving, and if you keep going on about it, not even Thomas will be able to stop Jorge from killing you."

"Minho said you weren't going to kill me." Newt said, recalling the wolfs words.

"No, he's right. But Jorge will find a way."

Newt opened his mouth to ask, but then Brenda was pushing open a pair of wooden double doors and suddenly, Newt was surrounded by sound.

Brenda had lead him to what looked like a cafeteria. It reminded Newt of a school lunch hall, with repeated tables and chairs in formal patterns and at the end of the room was a long table of food and a large arch way into the kitchen. The outside wall was decorated with four large windows, bleeding bright light into the room. There was a door at the end of the room, in between the food area and the end of the tables and chairs. The door lead out to what looked like the front of the house, with a wide wooden porch and a expanse of green garden. Newt couldn't see past the blanket of trees beyond the grass.

The room was loud with conversation. Each table was crowded with children and teenagers. Newt stared at them like they were speaking a different language. He couldn't stop thinking about how much this all looked like a summer camp.

"Jorge said you can sit with Minho," Brenda continued. She lead him to a table Minho was sitting on, as well as two other boys, a girl and a younger child. Brenda didn't wait for him to sit down before she dashed off.

"Well," Minho said, looking up from his food and glaring at Newt. "You gonna sit down, or stand there all day staring?"

Newt rolled his eyes and dropped in the chair on the end. There was six chairs on a table, Minho was next to him in the middle, and a blonde boy was sitting on the other side of him. Opposite him, sat the small boy, then a girl with long wavy brown hair and sharp eyes, and then another boy who's blonde hair was cut short and his shoulders were swelled with muscle.

Newt stared at them one by one. Then the small boy leaned over the table towards Newt. He was chubby, with a mop of curly brown hair on his head. He smiled, wide and bright.

"Hi! My names Chuck," he said, voice loud and childish. Newt couldn't work out how old he was, but he couldn't be older than thirteen at least. "Your names Newt, right?"

Newt nodded reluctantly.

"Cool! Nice to meet you, Newt." The boy smiled, his grin growing impossibly wider. Newt wondered if this boy was even a were, he looked too fragile and soft to even hurt a fly.

Newt flashed him a blunt smile, ignoring the hurt look in the smaller boys eyes.

"This is Teresa," the boy said, continuing despite Newt trying to make it obvious he wasn't interested. Newt looked at the brunette girl he'd motioned too, and she stared at him like he'd killed her pet. "And that's Gally and Ben."

Ben raised his hand and mumbled 'Hi' with a full mouth, not even looking up from his food he was shovelling into his mouth.

Newt avoided eye contact with the muscled teen who'd been named Gally. Something about him ringing alarm bells in Newts head. He felt threatened, in danger and all his senses and instincts were kicking into overdrive.

"Why aren't you eating?" Gally asked, voice gruff and un-amused.

Newt looked at him and suppressed the drop of his fangs. "I can't eat real food. Only blood."

Gally and Ben both grimace and Newt fights back the snarl itching his throat. How dare they judge him? They were fucking dogs.

"How are we meant to feed you then?" Chuck asked with a gasp. He looked genially concern, brown eyes wide and fearful.

"You're probably waiting for me to die of starvation." Newt said coldly. Chucks face drained of blood at the same time as Teresa and Minho growled. Newt felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up when suddenly, a smell blinded his senses.

He almost fell out of his chair, the smell hitting him so hard. He couldn't work out what it was, but it was both captivating and hypnotising. It was hot and cold. Spicy and neutral.

Newts head snapped up and he faced the direction of it and found a brunette boy walking through the cafeteria. Thomas.

"Thomas!" Chuck said, happily. The boy was practically bouncing in his seat.

Thomas grinned as he approached the table, reaching up and ruffling Chucks hair. "Hey, buddy."

Newt is about to growl, to pounce on the wolf and rip him limb from limb when he's suddenly dropping a red bag on the table. Newts eyes widen. Blood bag.

It takes him a moment to realises it real, his nose twitching and mouth salivating. He stares at it, as if if he looks away it will disappear. Newt looks up at Thomas, the boy already looking at him with a gentle softness to his eyes.

Newt doesn't have a chance to do anything before someone else is talking.

"Thomas!"

Newts back stiffens at the rumble of the alphas voice. Thomas is walking away a second later, saying good bye to the table before hes gone.

Newt doesn't hesitate to grab the blood bag. He wonders, for a small second, if the bag is poisoned or if Thomas had put something in it, but he doesn't care. Hes too hungry and too desperate to worry and if they did kill him with poison, it would be less painful than being held captive here.

A glass is pushed under his nose before he can rip off the top of the bag. He looks at it, before looking at Minho - who had been the one sliding it to him.

"Don't drink it from the bag," Minho said. "Do you have no manors? Its disturbing."

Newt rolled his eyes, grumbling under his voice but tipped the blood into the cup none-the-less. The blood is fresh, still slightly warm and. . . human? Newt would wonder how but it tastes so good he can barely stop for air. The copper taste runs down his throat in soft, pleasant gulps, settling his stomach almost instantly.

Newt practically ignores everyone around him for the rest of the time he's in the lunch hall, figuring everything they had to say was irrelevant and he didn't want to hear it. He was torn and sick of werewolves now, although the full stomach was much more pleasant than the gnawing feeling that had been eating him from the inside out the last couple of days.

He's taken back to the cell not too long after that. Minho walks him back, not Brenda this time, and it isn't until they're almost at the door by the stairs, that Minho actually says something.

"You know, when Jorge decides we can trust you, he might move you into a actual room."

Newt's head snapped up and he stared at the back of Minho's head with wide eyes. "Really?"

Minho nods. "Yup. But, Jorge says you have to be proven trustworthy."

Newt scoffs and shakes his head, though Minho wouldn't have seen it. "Good luck with that. I'm pretty sure Jorge wants me dead."

"You got that right. Doesn't help with you glaring at everyone around you. You gotta be pretty stupid to be rude to the people currently caring for you."

"You're not caring for me though, are you?"

"Did you eat tonight?"

Newt rolled his eyes. "That wasn't you."

"No, it was Thomas."

"What does everything have to do with him?" Newt asks harshly, venom seeping into his voice. He's sick of hearing and seeing fucking Thomas.

Minho sighs and they reach the big door. They begin descending down the steps and Newt finally realises how much colder the dungeon part of the house is compared to the wooden, cabin part. Goosebumps trail his white skin.

"You'll understand, in time," Minho says, and Newt refrains himself from rolling his eyes. How cryptic. "Everything's up in the air at the moment, and no one really knows anything."

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Be patient, White Walker," Minho snaps as they reach the bottom of the stairs. The Asian turns around suddenly, staring at Newt with a dangerous look. "And stop looking at Thomas like he's your worst nightmare."

Newt doesn't say anything for the rest of the walk back to his cell, because Thomas is his worst nightmare.

*

The next day, Newt is woken up early by Brenda smacking against the bars and sliding them open with a grinding creak. Minho isn't anywhere to be seen and Brenda doesn't even wait for him to fully wake up before she's walking down the hall, her laced boots clapping against the stone floor.

"What are we doing?" Newt asks, running after her and meeting her at the heavy door.

"Everyone at the pack camp has to play their part, to do a job to help eachother. The main factor of a sufficient pack is the teamwork. The trust and closeness between each member. Conflict amongst pack members is vile and must be avoided. Of course, your not expected to get along with everyone. But any unresolved tension between pack must be forgotten when in fight. If their attacked, you have to be able to rely on anyone and everyone to have your back and vise versa. It's crucial to have a functioning system. That's why we have alpha and alphas second." Brenda explains as they walk up the stairs and out into the cabin hallway.

Newt was slightly startled at the sudden burst of life he witnessed when he stepped out of the dungeon part this morning. The moment he took a step out into the hallway, a door slammed beside him and a child pushed past, running down the hallway with a few other children running after them giggling. People were walking up and down the hallway, it was busy, almost overwhelming, and Brenda was completely unaffected.

It was the same throughout the entire house. Everyone was running around like manics, children everywhere. Newt wanted to make a comment about keeping them on a leash, but then someone cold sparks in his chest, because at home, the children didn't smile or giggle. There was strict rules and regulations everyone had to follow, including the younger members of the clan. It wasn't like that here, it was bright and loud and the constant ringing of laughter filled Newt's ears. He wasn't sure what to think of it anymore.

Newt followed Brenda all the way outside. They walked out, stepping down the steps off the front porch and onto the field of green grass surrounding the house. Newt looked around in amazement, staring at the cloud of trees and forestry blanketing them, blocking out the rest of the world. The green grass was vibrant, the blaring sun beating down. It felt like something out of a summer movie, with the blossoming flowers and big trees. Newt was astonished.

"I thought vampires burn in sunlight."

Newt spun around from where he was staring at the people and scenery around him to find the same brunette girl, Teresa, he recalled, who had sat with him the night before in the cafeteria. Newt glared, finding the comment more annoying than insulting. "Thats a myth."

Teresa was standing beside Brenda, both of them looking at him. Brenda seemed to be trying to stifle a laugh, as if Teresa's comment had been hilarious, while Teresa just looked smug. "Obviously, because you're not currently burning alive or glowing."

Newt rolled his eyes. "You're knowledge of vampires is weak. I recommend revising more than the Twilight books next time."

Brenda did laugh then, though it was more of a chuckle she tried and failed to keep under her breath.

Teresa's smug smirk broke into a grin. "Thanks for the advice."

"Okay, you two. Newt, this is Teresa-"

"We've already been introduced." Newt cuts her off.

Brenda's eyebrows rose and she looked between the two. "Okay," she says slowly. "Well, good. Then you two can get started straight away."

Brenda began to walk back towards the house, and Newt lurched forward.

"Wait, what? Get started on what?"

Brenda turned around from where she'd made it to the first porch step. "Teresa's gonna be working with you today. I told you earlier, everyone plays their part."

"But, I. . ." Newt starts, but he trails off when he realises how much Brenda sounded like Alby then. It almost hurt.

"Have fun, and don't kill anyone." Brenda shouts before she's gone, disappearing back into the house.

Newt turned to Teresa slowly. She looked as unfazed as she did before. If anything, she looked angry.

"So," Newt began, unsure what to say. "What are we doing?"

"Gardening." Teresa says shortly, and wow, gardening, really?

"I don't do _gardening_." Newt chuckles bitterly. This was ridiculous and one of the most confusing forms of torture he'd ever heard of.

"Well, you do now," Teresa replies, shrugging. "And," her tone turned cold, "if you even think about making a run for it, I will gut you like a fish."

Newt's eyes widened and he gulped audibly. Teresa, though she was a girl and not even overly all and muscly, she was completely terrifying. Newt didn't want to push her.

"Come on, Blood Sucker." Teresa said before she spun around and walked away. Newt followed automatically and he mentally scolded himself for how much _he_ was acting like a dog in this situation.

They worked at the side of the house. Teresa spent hours showing him the basics of gardening and growing their own food. She showed him how to use each tool and what they're for, also how to plant carrots, potatoes and cabbages, and then how to pull them all up and out of the ground when they were grown.

Newt was out there for hours with her, listening and hanging onto every word she said as she explained everything he needed to know. He realised after a while, how he could have run many times since he was first let out. He could make a quick dash into the woods, though he wasn't fast - not by even a little - but he could try and run them out, or at least hide until his scent was faded enough. He could go home, and somehow, something was holding him back. He didn't feel the burning rage to get away and get out, or to claw at every throat he saw. He wasn't overly hungry, thanks to the blood bag the night before, so his control was completely in check.

He was confused, but part of him was okay with it.

They were planting the potatoes when Teresa finally asked the question Newt's been waiting for.

"So, wheres your pack?" She asks.

"At home, probably." Newt replies, keeping things short. He doesn't want Teresa, or anyone, to know what happened and why he was away from his home.

"Why aren't you with them?"

Newt looks up and narrows his eyes at her. "Because you're keeping me here."

Teresa rolls her eyes so hard it looked painful. "I meant, why were you walking the forest without them? On your own? And why are you so willing to die?"

"I'm not willing to die," Newt says, but the words even sound flimsy in his own ears. "I'm just not completely motivated to live."

"Thats the same thing."

Newt shakes his head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Did they kick you out?" Teresa suggests. "Banished? Did you run out of blood?"

"None of the above."

Teresa is silent for a moment. "Did you run away?"

Newt sighs heavily. He really doesn't want to talk about this anymore. "It's none of your business."

Newt looks up from the dirt and potatoes. His eyes lock on a small group of children, some of them half shifted into their wolf form, and the others have their faces contorted in concentration. Theres an adult with them, though he's crouched down beside a crying child who Newt can tell is struggling with their shift.

Newt's eyes suddenly catch the sight of a thin, blue cotton top and is drawn to see Thomas walking through a clearing of trees onto the grass. Newt can't help but notice that Thomas looks tired, and Newt begins to wonder what the hell he was doing out in the woods, but then a child is shouting his name. Newt sees a small girl running and jumping into Thomas' arms, the latter catching her and breaking a wide, bright smile. Newt listens as the girl in his arms exclaims how she's controlling her shift. Thomas' smile gets impossibly wider and he looks genially proud.

Newt frowns at the scene folding out in front of him. Something tight forms in his chest, solid and suffocating. He takes a deep, rattling breath to try and calm the fiery nerves that are suddenly tingling his skin. He doesn't understand what is happening, so he classes it as a burning rage at seeing Thomas again.

"Whats so special about him?" Newt asks before he can stop the worlds tumbling out of his mouth.

Teresa looks up, following his eye site. "Thomas?" She smirks slightly. "Why you suddenly so curious?"

"Just wondering," Newt shrugs. "Minho mentions him a lot. Always seems to jump to defend him."

Teresa snorts. "Trust Minho to protect Thomas," Teresa looks at him then, eyes sharp and shining with threat and protection. "Look, Newt, I know you probably don't understand the whole pack dynamic because you vampires are cold inside and out-" _uh, rude!_ "-but in a wolf pack, we protect our own. Imagine us as one big dysfunctional family, and Thomas is the heart of it. He gets a long with everyone - apart from Gally, but no one gets along with him. People would jump the gun to protect Thomas because they know he'd do it for them any day. He puts everyone before himself, even enemies like you. So be grateful, because he's the only reason your still breathing."

Newt growls in frustration. "Why do people keep saying that? He fucking bit me and threw me in a cell for days!"

"You really are brain dead, aren't you?"

"Brain dead, nice. You been talking to Minho?" Newt shakes his head and laughs cold and bitter.

"Thomas didn't 'bite' you," Teresa says. "He mated you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be posted **Monday 9th January**.


	3. chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is short, it was rushed and crappy. Apologies :)

There aren't enough words to describe the shit-storm Newt was feeling. His head was spinning, thoughts unfocused and blurring as they flashed past his mind. All he could think about was Teresa's words.

_He mated you._

_He mated you._

_He._

_Mated._

_You._

Newt couldn't stand it. If he could, he'd rip his own heart out just to make the words stop. The hatred and anger was burning through him like a killer fever. His veins were burning, claws flicking in and out as his shift became uncontrollable.

As soon as Teresa had told him the monstrosity of events, Newt had thrown everything on the ground and run off, storming through the cabin like a bull in a china shop. He was a flurry of danger, flashing past people in his rampage for the one wolf that _ruined him._

He couldn't find Thomas anywhere, though. He was searching every room he could find, no crossing the boundary of invading peoples individual bedrooms, but he was getting desperate now. He needed to find Thomas, to shout and beat and kill him for what he's done.

Newt was broken out of his bursts when someone walk hard into his shoulder.

"Woah," Minho says, eyes widening. "What are you-"

"Where's Thomas?" Newt snarls. His hands are balled into fists, claws edging out and cutting into his flesh. He feels his eyes flash, the reflection of the raven black seen in Minho's own eyes.

"On watch," Minho replies slowly, narrowing his eyes. "Why-"

"You knew," Newt snaps, finally realising. Does everyone know? "You fucking knew! And you didn't tell me!"

Minho looks stricken, and _pissed_. "Knew what? Shuck, what the hell are you-"

"The mating bite, you stupid _dog_! You knew Thomas mated me and you didn't think to tell me?"

Minho's jaw clenched, face drawing. "Right, you better calm down-"

"Don't tell me to calm down-"

"Or you're going to get your ass in a lot of shucking trouble." Minho finishes. His face is stoney, fists clenched at his side and eyes dangerous but Newt is so blinded by his rage he can't see it.

"You can't tell me what to do." He hisses.

"I can, because you're part of our pack now and you needs to learn when to stop," Minho says, and then he takes a slow breath, calming down. "Yes, I knew what Thomas did. Everyone does. He did it front of everyone to save your life."

Newt growled in the back of his throat, he threw his hands up in frustration. "Then why hasn't he said anything? I have a right to know if I'm mated to someone! Can he even do this? I didn't give him concent-"

"Maybe he hasn't said anything because he's nervous you'll reject him. Mating for a werewolf is a lot more of a big deal than for a vampire. He bit you over your vampire pack mark, so hopefully you'll get out of this rut you've dug yourself in and finally see he isn't a bad guy. And no, it doesn't require your concent."

Newt sighed heavily. He felt suddenly drained. "This is so fucked up."

"That's coming from a guy who drinks blood out of a bag," Minho says, but he adds a light chuckle on the end of it, so it comes of jokey. "Jorge has decided to move you into your own room, by the way. He wants you out of the slammer but said it would be best to keep you seperated for a while."

"I thought I was meant to be getting used to the pack?"

"You're not making a very good impression so far. Jorge is putting the pack first, and you're still a threat."

Newt restrained himself from rolling his eyes. He knew deep down that Jorge had a fair point, and with him going on his mini rampage only a few minutes before, Jorge had every right to continue being cautious.

Although it would be nice to have an actual bed instead of a blanket on a cell floor.

"Fine," Newt said. "Show me my room."

When Minho showed him the room, Newt was relatively surprised. It wasn't anything special, only a small box room with a bed in the corner, a wardrobe at the foot of it and a chest of draws on the opposite wall. At the end of the room was another door, which Minho explained was the bathroom. That was probably what surprised Newt the most - having his own bathroom. He'd assumed that they all showered and washed together, another wolf myth and pack rumour. He didn't tell Minho this, knowing he was already walking on thin ice and decided better of it.

"I'm assuming I don't have to share." Newt said, looking at the single bed.

"No, you don't," Minho said. "Jorge assumed you'd want your privacy."

Newt nodded. "Tell him I said thanks."

Minho scoffed. "Nah, you can do that yourself. Dinners at 6, do you want me to come and get you, or. . ."

"I'll find my own way," Newt said. "Am I. . . am I getting more. . ."

"Blood?" Minho suggested, and Newt nodded, almost embarrassed he had to ask. Minho sighed, shrugging. "I don't know, shank. Depends if Thomas gets it for you."

Though he was calmer now, the safety of his own privacy slowing his hatred for the wolf who ruined everything. He was still angry though. Everything was so unexplained, so confusing that Newt didn't know what to believe anymore.

Thomas' name sent shockwaves through his system.

Newt managed to push all his thoughts aside and instead inspected around the room. The bed, though smaller than his one at home, was actually very soft and comfortable. He dropped down on it, feeling the soft sheets and plush mattress sink under his weight. He sighed, it had been so long since he laid on a real bed. He could have fallen asleep there and then, but somehow found the will not to, and instead shot up.

He opened the wardrobe, not shocked to find it empty. He'll have to ask Minho about a change of clothes. The chest of drawers were the same as well. It almost reminded Newt of a hotel room - a shit hotel room, because there was nothing along the lines of accessories or room deco. But still, it was better than the cold cell. Much better.

The bathroom was bright and clean, a shower, toilet and sink somehow crammed into the small room yet it still didn't feel suffocating. Newt debated showering, knowing he must be absolutely vile to smell now, especially around a bunch of wolves with enhanced senses. He looked down at his dirty, unclean clothes and wondered if it was worth it, assuming the point of washing would be futile if he's going to have to put back on the oder clung clothes.

He reminds himself again to ask Minho for a change of clothes. He's desperate now, almost self-conscious.

Six rolls around, Newt had been staring at the small clock next to his bed for minutes on end, watching the small hand click. His room, though he was thankful for it, was boring and empty. The attempt at a nap would have been a mistake as he knew he'd never be awake in time.

As he walked down the thankfully quiet hallways, Newt wonders if Thomas is going to get him a blood bag, and where the hell the wolf had been getting it from in the first place.

Walking into the cafeteria, Newt wasn't surprised to see it looking the same as the night before: a chaotic mess of shouting children and laughing teens. He spotted Minho first, sitting with the same group of Teresa, Chuck, Gally and Ben. The seat on the end was still unoccupied and Newt felt a sudden wave of nervousness. Could he just go over there and sit with them? Did they even want him too?

Newt's queston was answered when Chuck finally spotted him, face lighting up instantly.

"Newt!" He called, raising a chubby hand to wave excitedly. Newt wanted to grumble at the enthusiasm, but deep down he was silently thankful for the invitation. He made his way across the room and hesistantly dropped down in the end chair. He eyes the wolves at the table, trying to hide the anxiety and instead masking it into disgust and hatred. It's what he does best.

Minho and Teresa are already in an easy conversation, one that Newt happily tunes out of while he stared around the canteen that reminded him horrible of a overcrowded zoo. The smells of everyone's foods swarm around his nose like a toxic stench. His stomach rumbled at the same time as the far door opened and a scrawny boy walked in, the scent of blood swimming around his nose.

He straightened up, watching with solid eyes as the teenager who couldn't be any older than him walked up the table, sulkily dropping a small blood bag in front of Newt on the table.

"Alright, Winston?" Ben asked, introducing the boy.

Winston nodded. "Could be worse."

"Where's Thomas?" Minho asked, dropping his fork onto his now empty plate.

"He's on watch still." Winston replied.

Minho sighed beside him. "He's meant to finish just before dinner?"

"I know. Zart's in the infurmary with Jeff again because of that damn wolfbane rash again so Jorge asked Thomas to cover his shift." Winston explained.

"Oh for shuck sake!" Minho growled. "Thomas has been up there all day. We were meant to go running tonight."

"I know, buddy. He told me to give this to you though." Winston motions to the blood bag in front of him, and suddenly Newt feels guilty. Beside him, Minho is practically vibrating in frustration.

Newt doesn't think about that. All he can think about is how Thomas yet again got him the bag of blood, the bag of something he shouldn't be able to get hold of. Human blood? There are no humans, no ones that Newt or this pack should have any contact with. Werewolves were required to stay away from humans, that was the law.

So how the hell was Thomas getting him blood? And why?

He needs to talk to Thomas.

*

It wasn't until later that night that Newt was able to find a whereabouts on Thomas, and even when he did, it wasn't exactly reliable.

He simply overheard Minho telling Frypan to leave some food out for Thomas when he finishes his shift at sunrise. That was all Newt knew.

Which is why, Newt had resigned himself to sneaking out of his room, which, still felt weird as he's spent every conscious night before in a cold cell on the floor instead of a warm, insulated room with an actual bed. Sneaking out of the room was easy, as was finding the canteen despite the dark hallways. The canteen at night was slightly creepy though, with the lack of lit lamps and the only source of light being the white moon shining through the wall of windows. The trees beyond were eery, shadowed and swaying in the night wind. Newt quietly sat down in one of the chairs at the back, hoping he'd be mostly out of sight when Thomas came in. It was silly really, that Newt didn't need to stay in the cafe so early if Thomas wasn't coming in until sunrise.

The time passed quickly though, and before Newt knew it, streaks of sunlight were shining through the trees and bleeding into the wooden room. The yellow glow made the house look warm and if Newt wasn't so desperate to leave, he would find it almost homely.

Thomas walked in the door minutes later, and Newt can see from his sluggish movements and slouched shoulders that he must be incredibly tired. Newt began debating if this was the right time, especially with Thomas so sleep deprived, but then he realised Thomas is probably going to be sleeping all day and watching all night, so there won't be another opportunity. He watched as Thomas walked into the kitchen behind the food tables, and then Newt followed.

When Newt walked in, he stood at the large doorway watching Thomas' back as he grabbed a wrapped plate on the kitchen worktop, unwrapping it and placing it in the large microwave in the corner. Newt watched Thomas as he placed the plate in the microwave, closing it and pressing a sequence of buttons before he leaned against the floor cabinets, pressing his hands palms down on the worktop.

Newt listened to other boy sigh before he said, "Thomas."

Thomas turns around, not at all surprised. But he looks nervous. Newt ignores the sunken eyes from lack of sleep, and the way Thomas' whole body tenses like it has been electrocuted.

"When were you going to tell me?" Newt asks, voice breaking the thick silence. He felt suddenly nervous, being face to face with Thomas. They haven't had a single moment together yet, just the two of them. It has only been short flashes, in big crowds. Newt hasn't even spoken directly to Thomas yet, not properly.

Thomas frowns for a moment, seeming confused before his face goes neutral, obviously figuring out what Newt was talking about. He shifted and leaned against the worktop. "When I was sure you weren't going to claw my throat out."

Newt barely holds back the growl tickling the back of his throat. "You should have told me before. You should have told me when I woke up. Actually, no, you should have asked me before you claimed me!"

Thomas' eyes widen. "I'm sorry, okay? I panicked! It was the first thing I could think of that would save your life-"

"Maybe I didn't want my life saved! Maybe I'd rather be dead than mated to a dog!"

Thomas is silent for a moment and Newt knows he's being unreasonable but he's angry goddammit.

"Is that really how you feel?" Thomas asks quietly.

"Oh, so _now_ you're considering my feelings? Too bad you didn't think about that before you mated me!" Newt shouts.

"Jesus Christ!" Thomas ran a hand through his hair, making the ends stand up hazardly. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I couldn't stand there and watch them maul you!"

"You're not sorry! If you're sorry you'll let me leave!"

"You can't leave now." Thomas sighs.

"Because you're making me stay!"

Thomas shook his head. "Because you can't go back, not now. Not when your mated to a werewolf. No vampire pack in their right mind would take you back now."

_Take you back._

The words echoed in Newt's mind, bouncing off the inside of his skull like a tennis ball. He couldn't go back anyway, could he? If he did, he'd be forced into marriage. He can't marry someone else now, not when he's mated to a goddamn dog.

"You can't to go back anyway." Thomas cuts through his thoughts.

"What?"

"You haven't got a pack to go back to, have you?" Thomas says slowly, his eyes are curious and calculating, and Newt can see the wheels turning in his head. He's figuring it out.

"That's none of your business," Newt says harshly. "Just stay away from me."

And with that, Newt turned on his heel and walked out of the canteen. Thomas was silent behind him and Newt didn't wait to hear if he wanted to say anything before he was marching back to his room. He practically fell through the door, shutting it behind him and sliding down to the floor, his back pressed flat against the wood.

He couldn't breath. He couldn't think. His mind was buzzing, thoughts blurring into a colossus mess. He didn't know what he was panicking about, but the main thought was standing out against the others as if it was flashing in neon lights. The realisation was dawning on him, now someones said it out loud, he can't deny it.

He can't go home, can he?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments!:)
> 
> Come find me on my tumblr- whistledylan


	4. chapter four

It was barely another hour before Teresa was knocking on his door. Newt was still pressed against it, head on his folded arms, knees up his chest and curled in as tight as he possibly could. He was tired, mentally and physically. Panicking and worry was exhausting. He hadn't moved since he'd ran from Thomas, ran from his problems and panic.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" Was the first thing Teresa asked when Newt moved out of the door and she walked in.

Newt sighed, how body aching. He was angry and hurt, guilty and scared. Thomas was in the wrong, but at the same time so was Newt and the whole realisation was just as exhausting as fighting with the wolf.

"What are we doing today?" He asked, ignoring her question. He hadn't slept, of course. His mind was like a live wire.

Teresa must have noticed the diversion, because her lips thinned for a moment and she stared at him, but then she seemed to let it go. "Gardening again. Gotta plant some tomatoes."

Newt nodded and took a moment to sit down on the bed.

"Skip breakfast," Teresa said, and Newt raised his head as she continued speaking, "have a sleep for a few hours. I'll be back just before lunch."

"But—"

"Save it, Greenie," Teresa said, raising a hand to shut him up. She turned to leave, looking back at him when she was at the door. "You look like shit. Get some sleep."

Newt was still stunned to silence minutes after she'd left. He didn't wait after that to roll on to his side under the covers. He was asleep in seconds after his head hit the pillow.

*

True to her word, Teresa came back just before lunch, knocking on the door and telling him to 'get your ass up, blood boy'.

Newt reluctantly rolled out of bed and followed her like a grumpy teenager being dragged to school. They head out to the gardens and instantly get started on the planting.

Newt feels almost numb. He works quickly and effectively, his thoughts scattered. His sleep deprived mind was not caught up with him despite the grateful hours Teresa had given him. He could remember Thomas' face, shadowed with tired lines, dirt speckling his skin. He could remember the way Thomas looked like he'd been physically slapped when Newt said he'd rather be dead than mated. Newt knew it was a low blow. He knew that was something unspeakable, that a mating bond was something rare and spectacular. But Newt couldn't see it that way. He was forced, he had no choice. He didn't get a say, he didn't get to decide if he wanted to be mated, to who or to get tied to a pack that had done nothing but thrown him about like a weightless doll.

"I heard you spoke to Thomas," Teresa said, promptly snapping Newt out of his head.

Newt looked up. "Your point?"

Teresa stopped her shovelling, dropping the tool in the dirt. She leaned back on her hunches, knee's bent. "My point, is you spoke to Thomas. How'd it go?"

Newt breathed heavily through his nose. "I don't want to talk about it."

Teresa frowned for a moment, and then her face turned stoney. She looked his straight in the eye, the brown orbs glaring cold and hard. "Fine," she said, but Newt knew she knew it wasn't fine. It was as if she looked into his eyes and saw everything that was said, knew he'd shouted unspeakable things at Thomas.

Newt opened his mouth to argue, to tell her she didn't know, she didn't understand anything he was going through because she wasn't taken from the woods, sentenced to death and then told he wasn't allowed to leave because he was mentally and physically bound to another person he'd never even met before. But then someone was screaming.

Newt looked over his shoulder just in time to see Frypan sprinting through the clearing between two large trees. He was stumbling, knees weak beneath him. He was looking over his shoulder like a hunted animal, shouting, "There's a trespasser! Trespassers! On the boarder!"

He comes to a jerky stop, Winston appearing in front of him and calming his hysteria. Newt could see the craze in his wide eyes, his skin, though tanned, looked washed out with fear and dread. A small crowd was forming around him. Everyone in the gardens standing still and watching.

It was barely a minute before Frypan was being lead into Jorge's office. As soon as the door shut behind him, everyone jumped back into task.

"What was that?" Newt asked, looking around at everyone. They were getting on with their tasks and activities again, but they were slower. They all looked worried, cautious even.

"Trespassers, obviously," Teresa replied, but there was no heat behind her sarcasm. He could see the worry etched in her face.

It was barely a few minutes before the door to Jorge's office opened and he stepped out. He looked around, searching the gardens for something - or someone.

"Someone find Thomas," Jorge shouted, his low voice, thick with accent, spreading across the grassland. Newt could feel the rumble in his chest, the recognition of an alpha. "I need him in my office, now."

A prompt of five people must scatter from the command, dropping their tasks and running off. Newt watched them like mice and he frowned, what did this have to do with Thomas?

Newt couldn't focus on his gardening now. He hadn't even bothered to pick up his gardening tool from where he'd dropped it into the dirt. His mind was flashing, images of his old pack slinking across the borderline, snaking behind trees and jumping out from behind bushes.

Newt saw Thomas through the glass of the canteen windows, shuffling down the long room, rubbing his eyes. Newt can imagine Thomas was sleeping, catching up with his many nights of missed sleep when he was urgently awaken. Newt almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"What's going to happen?" Newt asked. "If it is trespassers?"

"I don't know," Teresa said again. "I don't handle that kind of stuff, it's usually Thomas and Jorge. We haven't had trespassers in a long time."

"What does Jorge do?" Newt stressed. "What if they're not a threat?"

"Anyone who's on the border is a threat," Teresa replied, and it sounded rehursed, like Jorge had forced people to believe and say that. Newt wouldn't be surprised if those words had literally come out of Jorge's mouth.

"What if they're just walking?" Newt asked. "What if they don't know it's a border for your territory?"

"Like you?"

Newt blinked, stopping himself because, yes, technically he was describing himself. But he was also trying to give his pack - if they are his pack - a chance of leeway. He knew his pack on the border was a threat, but he could at least try and convince the wolves otherwise.

"I wasn't playing on the border. And I wasn't a threat," Newt said, finally.

Teresa looked at him with a mix of soft and stony. It was almost an impossible expression, but somehow she mastered it like it was second nature. She sighed, dropping her head so Newt couldn't see her face. "First of all, you're a vampire, of course you were - and still are - a threat. Second, no, you weren't playing on the boarder, you just walked straight into our land like a headless chicken."

Newt scowled. "Headless chicken? Nice, really, what a wonderful way to describe someone."

He didn't breach the subject of him walking onto their territory, mostly because Teresa was right. He also didn't think too hard about Teresa labelling him as a threat. He'd rather be feared than undermined.

*

Minho found him in the gardens a hour later. The Asian wolf walked straight up to him, movements fast paced and strong. It was almost intimidating.

"Sup, Greenie," He said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down on Newt's amateur gardening skills.

Newt dropped the spade in the scooped dirt and sighed as he looked at Minho pointedly. "Stop calling me Greenie."

Minho rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Greenie."

Newt heaved a heavy breath. Every conversation with Minho was making itself to be physically exerting. Teresa had gone off a few hours ago, saying she was going to help Brenda with the children's classes, so Newt was all alone. He was surprised, at first, that Teresa was willing to leave him in the gardens alone. After the incident with Frypan earlier that morning, he was sure everyone would have been skittish and untrusting of him even more now. But, Teresa seemed more than willing to leave Newt alone in the unguarded or fenced area.

"Is there something you want?" Newt asked, exasperated.

Minho stared at him for a moment. He straightened up and clicked his tongue. "Thomas found you some clean clothes, there on your bed in your room—"

"Thomas went in my room?"

"Relax, shank, I put them there. Not that it should bother you that Thomas went in your room when you're m—"

"Don't even say it," Newt snapped. Minho rose an eyebrow at him, face blank and void. Minho's lack of words were like a punch to the stomach, the silence engulfing Newt. He needed to stop being so rude to Minho, despite their rocky start, the wolf was by far one of the more a manageable wolves in the pack. "Fine. Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Minho replied, unfolding his arms. "You should shower, by the way. We have sensitive noses and you smell like somethings died."

"I'm a vampire. Technically I'm dead," Newt deadpanned. Minho chuckled at the comment. "And have you tried breathing through your mouth?"

"Yes. Repeatedly. I can basically taste it when I do," Minho replied. "So shower, you shucking corpse."

Newt stood up, muttering, "Not a corpse," and he knows Minho heard, despite the lack of reply he got as he walked away from the gardens.

Finding his way back to his room was quick and easy, and Newt wondered if he'd ever have the chance, or the welcome, to wander around the rest of the large wooden house. He could imagine exploring for hours, and suddenly he can imagine being a child, playing hide and seek for hours on end.

The thoughts hurt Newt's head, morphing into sadness and misery. He misses his home.

Back in his room, Newt found a pile of neatly folded clothes on the end of his bed. He was surprised, at least, at the formal appearance. He was more surprised to find when he unfolded them that they weren't cheap or nasty. There was a soft cotton t-shirt, long sleeve and slightly oversized, a pair of thin cargo pants and a set of underwear. Newt felt his skin tingle at the thought of _Thomas_ picking these out for him, his thin fingers touching the soft fabric—

_What. The. Shit._

Why the _hell_ did that just come into Newt's head?

He blamed in on the lack of sleep.

*

Newt, as much as he'd hate to admit it, agreed with Minho. He did need a shower, desperately — although that wasn't going to get rid of the smell of 'death', much to Minho's distaste. The shower was pleasant, a refreshing wake up. Washing away the grime and dried blood that stuck to his skin in dusty flakes, watching it collected in the shower basket below his feet.

Newt didn't dare to touch himself when he showered. Every thought that flashed through his mind from the past few days made him anything _but_ turned on. He washed quickly, getting out and drying even quicker with hesitant dabs. He dressed in the fresh clothes, barely pulling on his t-shirt before the door burst open.

"What the—!" He cried, jumping a foot in the air. He felt his eyes flash and fangs begin to prod through his gums. _"Teresa?!"_

Teresa stood in the doorway, hand still on the handle. She seemed unfazed by Newt's outburst, and oblivious to what she almost walked in on. "You need to come and help me with dinner."

Newt narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Frypan is still with Jorge so Brenda needs helpers in the kitchen. I volunteered you and me."

"And why would you do that?"

"Because I can," Teresa said blankly, flashing him a shit-eating grin. "Come on, Greenie. We got food to cook."

She was gone before Newt could get another word out. He ran out the door, shutting it swiftly behind him and chased after Teresa down the corridor.

"I can't cook," Newt said, catching up to her and joining in on her quick strides.

"You're not getting out of this that easy, Greenie," Teresa replied, voice jolly and almost a sing-song.

Newt rolled his eyes but followed her none the less.

The pack house was quite chaotic in it's own way. Newt could hear loud noises of shouts and talking, but he couldn't see anyone. The hallways were empty, the cafeteria was empty. He wondered, where the hell was everyone? His thoughts of exploring came back to mind.

"Finally," someone said, and Newt looked up to see Brenda walking out of the kitchen, heading straight to them as they crossed the dining hall. "I can't believe you actually came."

Newt didn't realise the last comment was directed at him until he finally met Brenda's eyes. "I can't promise I'm going to be any real help." He said.

Brenda smirked. "You can't be that bad," she snarked. They met her at the archway, and Brenda spun around quickly. Feeling resigned to follow, Newt trailed behind Teresa and Brenda into the kitchen. "We've got a lot of people to feed, and Frypan was apparently planning on pizza tonight so it's nice and easy. Teresa, can you get started on chopping up the toppings? Awesome. Newt, you and I are going to be making the dough."

"What part of 'I can't cook', do you people not understand?" Newt asked, exasperated.

"It's pizza, Greenie. You honestly can't get this wrong," Teresa rolled her eyes.

*

Teresa was wrong. She was so so wrong.

Newt screwed up the pizza. Again. _Why was dough so complicated?_ He internally screamed when another dough base was 'too floury', 'too soggy', 'you've handled it too much'. Newt couldn't win. And Brenda's small input of words— _negative words_ — are not helping at all.

"Jesus, Newt," Brenda groaned, looking at the white mass of mess in Newt's hands. "What the hell have you done to it?"

Newt groaned, dumping the dollop of flour and shit on the worktop. "I'm done. This is stupid. I can't cook, okay?"

The kitchen was silent for a long moment, and Newt turned to look at the two girls who were looking at him with unreadable expressions.

And then they burst out laughing. Literally. Brenda's laugh was as loud as a banshee scream, ugly and _completely_ exaggerated. Teresa was bent over, hand on belly like a jolly boatman, and then she was clapping, hands slapping together like a baby seal and eyes glassing with tears.

Newt just stared at them with the most done expression he could muster because, _really, what was so funny?_

"Stop laughing," he grumbled, but it only made them laugh more. "Seriously, what is so funny?"

"You just. . ." Teresa heaved a breath between laughs. "Y-you're _face!"_

"Yes, my face. Funny, isn't it?" Newt snapped. "Stop laughing!"

"Okay, okay," Brenda finally said, still breathing breathless chuckles and holding her side as if laughing that much had given her a stitch. " _Evidently_ , you can't cook, or even prepare food. So, um. . . why don't you just. . . make sandwiches?"

"Sandwiches?"

"Yes, those things that have meat and food inside two slices of bread," Brenda said slowly as if she was talking to a troubled child.

Newt glared. "I know what a sandwich is!"

"Good, then it shouldn't be to hard to make some. Although. . ." she trailed off and looked to Teresa, and a moment later they burst out laughing again.

Newt rolled his eyes and sighed. " _Okay_ , I get it. My cooking ethic is hilarious. What do I need to do to make sandwiches?"

It took them another few minutes to calm down, and when they did, Brenda showed him where everything was and told him he needed to make Jam sandwiches, having both strawberry jam, raspberry jam and apricot jam— _but not in the same sandwich, Newt. That's disgusting._

Newt got straight to work, ignoring the girls behind him who kept snickering at his attempts. Brenda emphasised repeatedly how Newt had ruined the dough, but the vampire simply ignored the girls and focused on not fucking up sandwiches.

When dinner rolled around, Newt was slightly smug at his preparations. Brenda and Teresa had inspected his sandwiches with high noses and when neither of the girls had commented on them, Newt felt himself beaming. He actually did something right.

He didn't tell anyone that he had made the sandwiches, being almost certain that none of the wolves would think twice about turning away the food if they knew a enemy vampire had made them. But when Minho sat down next to Newt on their usual table with three sandwiches, moaning at how good they tasted, Newt felt something warm in his chest that he hadn't felt in a long time.

Of course, that small moment of glow was ruined when none other than Thomas walked into the dining hall.

Instantly, Newt felt himself stiffen up. But what surprised him most, was when everyone else on the table watched Thomas with wary eyes as the boy dropping down in the chair with a heavy and defeated slouch.

"Holy shuck, Thomas," Minho said, voice high. "You look like shit."

Thomas glares heatedly, but it is barely intimidating. "Fuck off."

Newt looks closely at the boy in front of him, sitting where Chuck normally sits. Newt comes to sudden daunting realisation that Thomas does, in fact, look like shit. He's pale, more so than Newt had come to know. His cheek bones are sharper than before, his eyes are bruised with purple half moons, sunken and painful how they scream at the little sleep Thomas has been getting. Newt knows Thomas is important, and Teresa had told him, he was Jorge's second in command. Thomas was basically the most reliable and loyal person in the camp, but Newt saw how Thomas was lagging. Jorge was using him to breaking point and as strong as Thomas has been made out to be, Newt knows everyone needs their sleep.

"What happened in there?" Minho asked, nodding over to where Jorge's office is leading off from the canteen. "You were in with Jorge for a long time."

"Frypan saw other werewolves around the borderline," Thomas sighed, dragging a hand down his face, leaning his chin into his palm. He closed his eyes, shoulders slumping. "It's got Jorge all wound up and now he's making all kinds of plans and regulations."

"Brilliant, just what he need." Minho said, and Thomas snorted.

Newt deflates. So it's not his pack.

Are they even looking?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — unedited.
> 
> come find me on my tumblr: whistledylan


	5. chapter five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's pretend I haven't taken 6 month to update and instead embrace the fact I have actually finished writing this fic! Because of this, I am going to treat you angels to an update every Monday until it's finished. Yay!

The next evening is the wolves annual full moon party. At first, Newt has no idea what it's meant to be until Teresa explains - in a patronising tone - that "Its a full moon party, Newt. What do you think we do?"

Newt only rose an eyebrow, causing Teresa to sigh heavily with exasperation. "There will be food, drink spiked with moonshine, games for the kids, music. That kind of stuff."

"And does the end of the night end with you all howling at the moon?"

Teresa flashes him a glare, and Newt smirks. He's been becoming more confident around Teresa, having spent most of his time with her since he arrived here in the gardens. The two had formed somewhat of a friendship, or maybe a companionship, or maybe just a tolerating-ship. Newt doesn't know, but it was the closest thing he had in this god damn camp. 

The day of the full moon, Newt spent in the room he was given, reading a book Teresa threw at him when he complained about the camp being boring. She'd given him a book called Oranges In No Mans Land, which Newt was a bit shocked to find out was a children's book considering it was about the Civil War. None the less, he managed to read the entire thing before Teresa knocks on his door at nightfall.

"Come on, you unsociable shank," she greets, standing in the doorway. She's dressed nice, and by nice, Newt means in a pair of black trousers and a white blouse with small stitched flowers on it. For something so girly, she makes it look cool and retro, rocking it without looking like a complete  _girl_. "Party started half an hour ago."

"And you're only knocking on my door now because. . .?" Newt asks as he rises from the bed, putting the closed book on his bedside cabinet. He wasn't sure if he wanted to do this, but it wasn't like Teresa was giving him much choice.

"Because I only just remembered about you," Teresa replies, flashing him a sarcastic smile. "Now come on, we're missing all the fun."

Newt rolls his eyes but follows none the less. She leads him to the cafeteria, where there are a few wolves sitting at the tables. What's outside is what catches Newt's eyes so abruptly that he actually stops short.

There are fairy lights all around the decking and porch long the front of the house. There is hanging baskets, some filled with lights, the others filled with food or decoration hanging from the porch ceiling. There's chains of paper flowers weaving through the porch banisters, trees in the distance have lights trailing around their trunks like spirals. There's music, laughter and happiness floating through the air like a drug.

Teresa stands at his side, and he can see her shit-eating grin from where he's looking ahead of them.

"Pretty special, eh?" She says. "Not your ordinary party."

Newt says nothing, too awe-struck. Something cold nudges his hand and he looks down to see a glass jar, filled to the brim with a strange golden brown liquid.

"Gally's special moonshine," Teresa explains. "This stuff is the best, believe me. Gally's only goof quality is making this."

Newt raises an eyebrow, but Teresa just clangs her own glass against his own and takes a greedy sip.

"Cheers!" She grins, before she's turning and walking off. 

Newt takes a hesitant sip of the moonshine in his glass, and instantly, he gags.

It tastes bitter, sour. It hits the back of his throat like a punch, bringing tears to his eyes. He coughs, tongue tingling.

He hears a laugh and looks up.

"First time on the moonshine, ay, shank?" Minho smirks, taking a large sip of his own.

Newt grumbles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"That stuff is disgusting," he says.

Minho only laughs louder. "It gets better the more you drink it, trust me. The first time I drank this shuck, I thought Gally was trying to poison me."

Newt doesn't know why, but he takes another sip. It takes awful, but considerably better than the first.

Minho gives him a shit-eating grin. "Told ya."

Newt rolls his eyes.

Minho leaves him not too much later, going off to speak to Thomas, who was making Brenda laugh so hard she looked a minute away from wetting herself.

Newt rolls his eyes again and stalks off. He makes his way into the trees, wandering aimlessly until he suddenly finds himself almost on the border of the packs land.

He could. . . he could escape!

He looks around cautiously. All he is greeted with is silence and dark trees. The full moon above him casts a bright glow through the trees, illuminating his surroundings. He knows there's lots of wolves in the forest tonight, shifted and soaking up the energy from the moon.

He turns back towards the direction of the boarder, but before he can take another step, he's being tackled.

He doesn't know what's happened at first. One minute he's standing, the next he's on the floor, pain flaring in his side and glass knocked out of his hands, smashing as it hits the tree nearby. A heavy weight sits on him, pinning him down roughly.

"Trying to escape, blood-sucker?"

Newt opens his eyes - he hadn't realized he closed them - to see Gally looking down at him, half shifted and grinning with sharp, pointy teeth. 

"Get off me," Newt snarls. He can feel himself beginning to shift, eyes melting black, swallowing up his irises. The claws break out of his nails.

Gally laughs. "Little vampire want to come out to play? Come on, Greenie, let's see what you got."

Newt struggles with no avail. Gally has him securely pinned by the wrists, his enormous weight crushing his chest and stomach.

And then the weight is gone. 

Newt takes a shuddering breath, sitting up and scrambling back until his back hits a tree.

Across the clearing, he see's a wolf holding Gally down, his back towards Newt. Gally thrashes, throwing the wolf off.

Newt's breath catches in his throat as Thomas rises from the dirt, eyes shining a vibrant gold as he snarls, baring his sharp teeth. He leaps onto Gally, claws digging deep into the back of the bigger beta's shoulders.

Gally gives out a ripping roar as he stumbles back, feet tripping and he falls, landing hard on his back. Thomas is off him before he hits the ground, landing a few feet away, crouching in a animalistic stance. 

He stands slowly, shoulders back and eyes glowing like fire.

Newt has never seen Thomas as a wolf, not like this. He's. . . he's fascinating. His pale skin is illuminated in the moons light, his beta eyes fierce and intimidating. 

"Leave," Thomas snarls, baring his pearly, sharp, white teeth.

"He was trying to escape!" Gally roars, scrambling up to his feet. He points to Newt as he shouts, and the vampire can barely resist a embarrassing whimper.

"I'll deal with it," Thomas replies. "Go back to camp and keep your mouth shut."

Gally looks like he won't go, looks like he's a moment away from ripping Thomas' throat out and turning on Newt. He stares at Thomas like prey, like a predator seeking it's dinner.

After a long moment, the wolf finally moves, sending one last glare-of-death to Newt before turning and disappearing through the trees back to the house.

Newt lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding, slouching and sagging where he was still pressed up against the tree trunk. 

"Are you okay?"

Newt opens his eyes, not having noticed he'd closed them, to see Thomas standing in the same place, looking at him with human eyes. Newt nods dimly, trying not to glare.

"Thanks," he murmurs. "For stopping Gally."

Thomas nods, and after a stretched moment, he moves to sit down next to Newt, a distance away from his side. He crosses his legs and rests his head against the tree, looking up.

Newt drags his eyes away, with difficulty he refuses to admit and looks down at his feet. 

"Was Gally telling the truth?" Thomas asks, breaking the silence. "Were you really leaving?"

"Do you expect any different?" 

"If you're really that desperate to go, if we make you so unhappy, then leave."

"You're giving me permission now?"

"I could never stop you. I just hoped if we convinced you you couldn't leave, then one day you'd want to stay on your own accord."

"Why do you think I'd ever want to stay?"

"Because you have no where else to go."

Newt gapes. "How. . . h-how do you know that?" 

"Your clan would have come and looked for you by now if you were missing,"

Newt shakes his head. "I ran away," he insists harshly. "I wasn't banished, I ran away. Do you understand? I _chose_ to leave. They didn't know I was going to. My pack must be looking for me."

Thomas shakes his head. "They'd never come looking over this way. Your pack would never come to our territory unless they knew you were here. Which they don't."

"How do you know I can't go back? If I leave now, they can track me and they'll take me in again."

"Is that what you want?"

Newt's mind stops short. Is going back what he wants? Does he really want to be forced to marry someone he doesn't love? 

The only problem is if he stays, he's going to be forced into another arrangement that he doesn't want. He doesn't want to be mated with a wolf. He doesn't want to live in a wolf pack, surrounded by them and told he has to love them. He wants to start making his own choices.

"It's true. I don't have anywhere to go." Newt says. "If I go back, I'll be forced to do something I don't want to do. If I stay, I'm still going to be forced into something I don't want to do."

Beside him, Thomas is silent.

"I guess you have to choose which situation is worse," he says finally. "I'm not going to force you to anything you don't want to. You won't even feel the mate bond, it will be like its not even there. You don't have to do anything."

Newt nods. "Good. Because I don't want it."

Thomas doesn't reply. He shifts, swallowing audibly. The tension is thick in the air. 

"What's going on?" Newt asks, frantic. Thomas doesn't reply, a grin breaking out on his face, shining in the colourless moonlight. 

Minho suddenly bursts through the trees, half shifted and sharing the same grin Thomas was sporting.

"Ready, Thomas?"

Thomas' grin widens, "Hell yeah."

Minho laughs. "Okay. Loser has to chug a pint of moonshine." 

"Deal," Thomas agrees, and then he shifts, and Newt has never seen anything so. . . mesmerising. 

It's breathtaking, surreal and something out of a movie. It makes Newt's breath hitch as his body shifts, face morphing and form changing.

And then he's standing in a crouched position, familiar golden orange eyes glowing like small blazes of sun, shining in the dim light and contrasting against the colourless skin of his face. He smiles, baring his teeth at Minho.

"Bring it on,"

And then they're disappearing, forms like blurs as they speed across the clearing and into the trees, away from the camp. 

It takes Newt a long time to get his breath back. He doesn't know how long he spends sitting against the trunk, eyes wide and disbelieving. He doesn't know when the fangs prodding his lip recede, or when his claws switch back to his dirty nails.

When he stands, he feels shaky. His legs threaten to give out from under him, but he refuses to crumble again. He walks back to camp slowly.

When he gets there, Teresa is exclaiming he needs another drink, dragging him over to Brenda and shoving another mason jar into his hands. He's pushed into a deck chair between Brenda and Teresa, and then realises they're watching brawl fighting.

Gally's in the middle, and honestly Newt isn't surprised. The beta seems to have  _a lot_  of bottled up anger, and apparently the only way for him to distinguish it is through violence.

How perfect.

Time becomes a haze. He keeps taking sips of the moonshine, the taste slowly become numb on his tongue. Before he knows it, he's finished the jar. Teresa cheers for him, filling up the jug and telling him to "Drink up, Greenie!"

And he does. He hasn't felt this relaxed in a long time. They never did this type of thing at home, and Newt has gone his whole life never knowing the affects of alcohol, never experiencing them or even dreaming of getting wasted.

And it feels fucking good.

Newt doens't know what the time is when Minho bursts through the trees, but suddenly everyone is sitting up, laughing and cheering.

"Ha!" Minho laughs, huffing, hunched over as he gasps for breath. "I fucking beat you, Thomas!"

"Finally!" Someone shouts.

Newt is momentarily confused, and then there's a pain so blinding and sudden he almost falls out of his chair. It's flaring in his neck, spreading like wildfire down his back. He can't breath, his mouth is open, a shrilling scream only just reaching his ears and he realises it's him screaming.

"—ewt! Newt! Calm down! What's wrong?!"

Someone is shouting at him, their voice filled with urgency but Newt can't get the words out. 

"Newt! Tell us what the shuck is wrong!" He recognises Minho and he can finally breath in a shuddering breath.

"The bite," he gasps. His whole body is wound tight like a spring, threatening to snap. "It burns!"

Teresa looks at Minho, who's looking at her with the same dreaded expression

"Thomas!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am genially sorry about the ridiculously long wait for me to continue this. I took a major hiatus on this fic, but hey-ho, it's over now and I've finished actually writing it.
> 
> Leave kudos and comments :)


	6. chapter six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated a few days early because all the lovely comments you left were so encouraging and heart-warming :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one!<3

The next morning, Newt is woken up by noise. It takes him a long moment to come to his senses, and when does, he realises the ruckus of sound is coming from just outside his bedroom. Rolling out of bed, he opens the door to find people running past, their feet loud on the creaky wooden floor boards. There's shouting, some of hysteria, and Newt feels fear shoot down his spine.

He takes a step out and is almost thrown over by a child sprinting down the hall. He tries again, making his way slowly down the hall.

"Newt!" 

He spins around and finds Chuck running down the stretch of the hallway towards him.

"What the hell is going on?" Newt asks as the young boy approaches.

"They've found Thomas," Chuck says, huffing out of breath. "That's what everyone is saying."

Newt feels like he's running on instinct. Like there's a rope around his chest and he's being pulled towards the front of the house.

He pushes his way out, through the crowd of wolves and ignoring the odd growl aimed towards him as he shoves and pushes to get outside. As soon as he steps onto the porch, the panic in his chest settles, the rope disappearing.

Thomas stands on the grass in front of the house, clothes torn and dirty. Jorge is in front of him, talking with a hushed voice, Newt can barely hear him over the blood pounding in his ears. Minho and some other wolves stand behind Thomas by the trees, also looking dirty.

They all watch Jorge storm forward, pulling Thomas into a bone-crushing hug. The younger wolf practically sags against his alpha, melting in the embrace. It's the first time Newt realises the bond between the two, so much stronger and deep than Jorge with anybody else.

"You better never do that again," he hears Jorge whisper. "Never do it again."

"No promises," Thomas replies with a quiet, tired huff of laughter.

Jorge pulls back after a long moment. "Right. Infirmary now."

"I'm fine," Thomas says, almost as if automatically. "Honestly, I don't need—"

"Don't fight me, Thomas," Jorge practically growls, but Newt can hear the concern in his voice. 

Thomas looks defeated against the order and nods shortly. Minho walks up, grabbing him by the shoulder and gentle steering him into the house.

"What happened in the woods?" Newt asks, his voice surprisingly unsteady.

Chuck shakes his head. "I don't... I don't know."

Teresa appears from the slowly deserting crowd as everyone either heads back to their rooms or sits down for breakfast. Chuck runs forward, Newt on his tail.

"Teresa!" Chuck shouts, and the she-wolf turns to face them. "Teresa, what happened to Thomas?"

"Hunters." She says, sigh deep in her tone. "Apparently Thomas' spotted them when he was running last night, they were following him and Minho so he lead them away. Managed to run all night, just ahead of them enough not to get caught."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"Incredibly, and idiotic. Thomas is lucky he didn't lose his head," Teresa replies. 

"Jorge seemed shockingly understanding," Newt muses.

Teresa looks at him with an unreadable expression. "You'll be surprised how soft Jorge can be when it comes to Thomas."

"Why did I feel that pain in my neck?" Newt asks.

Teresa sighs. "For a number of reasons. The main being because Thomas was hit with a knife when he was running, but he was lucky enough it wasn't one dosed in wolfs bane like they normally are. Another reason, your mate bond knew Thomas was in danger. It was warning you, telling you your mate was in danger."

Newt can't help the snarl that escapes him.

"He's not my mate,"

Teresa rolls her eyes aggressively, walking away without another word.

*****

"Jorge wants you in his office,"

Newt looks up from the book he was reading, another one given by Teresa, to see Minho standing in his bedroom doorway. 

Newt raises an eyebrow as he closes his book. "Why?"

Minho huffs with exasperation, rolling his eyes. "I don't shucking know. They've been in there since noon, and Teresa just told me to find you."

Newt nods. "Okay."

Minho doesn't walk him to the office, so it's lucky Newt knows where it is. He stands outside the door, unsure if he should just go in or knock, or wait for someone to come out and get him. He doesn't know how long he stands there, staring at the dark, rich wooden door before it flings open suddenly, and Brenda stands on the other side.

Newt swallows. They must have heard him.

"You coming in?" Brenda asks, and Newt nods.

He can feel the cold atmosphere almost immediately.

"Sit down," Jorge greets, and Newt complies. 

He's never been in Jorge's office, and it's almost exactly as he expected. It's plain and simple, with a large oak desk sitting in the middle of the room, bookshelves stacked with old, large books with broken and bent spines. The desk is empty, and Newt can't help but wonder if it is simply for decoration.

Jorge stands on the opposite side of the table, arms folded and looking as serious as ever. Thomas is slouched in a chair on the same side as the door, slouched, looking tired and fed up. Brenda stands behind him, arms folded too and looking on the borderline of screaming.

He drops down in the chair a gap away from Thomas.

"What is this about?" Newt asks. He feels out of place, anxious like he's being interrogated. 

Jorge shifts where he stands. "What do you know about hunters?"

"I wouldn't consider us close," Newt replies. "Why?"

"Have you ever dealt with hunters?"

Newt snorts, shaking his head. "You know, vampires lives aren't that much of a daydream that we don't deal with hunters."

"Just answer the damn question," Jorge snarls. 

Newt almost apologises. He remembers that the three of them have been here for almost four hours. They're probably exhausted, Thomas especially after last night.

"Yes. I've dealt with hunters," Newt replies seriously.

Jorge nods and sends Thomas a eye message that Newt can't break down quick enough before Jorge is looking at him again.

"Have you ever heard of the Tycen Hunters?" He asks.

Newt freezes. They had attacked their neighbouring vampire clan. 

"Yes," He chokes.

"Can you give us any input on them?"

"They didn't attack my clan itself. But they attacked a clan we know. Well,  _knew_. They were... wiped out."

Thomas growls and Jorge tusks him.

"They're still ruthless, Jorge," Thomas says. "They are going to kill us."

Newt is close to agreeing. The Tycen Hunters are the worst of them all. Their moral compass is spiralling. They have no fear, no mercy and no empathy. They wouldn't care if they were killing an adult or a child. Anything supernatural, they wipe out like a bug.

"No, they won't," Jorge replies. "We can stop them. If we raise our defences and have twenty-four hour supervision, we can detect when they're going to attack."

"We can't fight them off, Jorge," Thomas looks defeated. "I can't do it again."

"Thomas, you don't have a choice," Jorge says, and Newt's eyebrows pinch inwards. 

What happened to Thomas? 

"We will start training right away," Jorge continues. "Even the children."

"You can't drag them into this," Brenda says, standing up straighter, panic laced in her voice.

"We have to,"

"The children, no matter how strong or trained they are, won't stand a chance," Thomas counters. "The best option is to keep them out of the fight."

"There's not enough people here to do it without them," Jorge replies.

Thomas clenches his jaw, and Newt watches the action with seeking eyes. "Well, like you said, we don't have a choice."

They tell Newt to go a little while later when things begin to get heated, words turning into snarls and patience wearing thin. Brenda kindly ushers him out, giving him a strained smile as she follows him out the room and closes the door behind them.

"It's probably best to leave them alone," Brenda says. 

Newt nods, but he doesn't move far from the door. 

He has never felt so homesick. The atmosphere amongst the wolves is thick and suffocating. They all know something is wrong. Jorge and Thomas are still in the office, Brenda going in and out and every time she reappears, she looks more and more nervous. 

Newt drifts most of the rest of the day. He makes dinner with Teresa in silence. He eats next to Minho in silence. He doesn't know what to say.

It's only when he's washing up after dinner that he see's Thomas again.

The tired wolf walks with a blood bag hanging loosely between his fingers.

He dumps the bag on the side next to the sink Newt is cleaning in.

"Sorry it's late," Is all he says before he walks off, leaving Newt without another word.

*****

Training starts the next day. 

Newt is dragged out of bed by Teresa before the sun has even risen. She makes him grab a handful of fruit Frypan was in the middle of chopping up in preparation for breakfast before they made their way outside.

"What are we doing out here so early?" Newt asks after a mouthful of apple slices.

Teresa leads him into the back garden. "We're going to teach the children defence moves."

Newt frowns. "Why? I thought the children aren't meant to be fighting, that's that Thomas said."

Teresa sighs. "Jorge wants to make sure if anything goes wrong, they can defend themselves." 

They lay out mats and gloves, foam weapons. Newt wants to ask where they got these from and why, but Teresa seems on edge enough without Newt asking questions she most likely can't answer. 

It's not long before Teresa is going inside to fetch the children from the canteen. They start with basic defence, blocking physical blows from one another. Some of the children pick it up quickly, others struggling and Newt finds himself getting enwrapped into it, showing them again in slower stages until they stop forgetting to let their hands down, or they remembered to keep their fists clenched.

By midday, Newt was as tired as the children. They were in the middle of using the foam sticks as weapons, learning how to block the swipes and retaliate, when Thomas and Gally came out of the house. There was a mat set up a little away from the children for the older wolves to fight and train. 

Newt watches as he sits on the edge of the mat as Thomas and Gally fight, dodging and tackling each other. They knock each other off their feet, swiping their sharp claws, eyes flashing a royal gold. Specs of blood splatter their clothes when their claws narrowly catch, splitting the skin shallowly before it stitches up and heals like a click of fingers. He watches them move, observing.

Gally is bigger, stronger. He throws Thomas down, using his height and build to his advantage. 

But Thomas, though much smaller, is faster, more accurate. He hits his mark, dancing around Gally with speed and agility the bigger wolf doesn't possess. 

The fight almost ends with Thomas standing above Gally, the older boy on his hand with Thomas' claws around his throat, a threatening death. But Gally snarls, grabbing Thomas by the shoulders and hurling him to the side. Thomas lands awkwardly, and Newt flinches when he hears the horrific snap of a bone. He's standing up, ready to run over when someone else intervenes, stopping Gally from advancing while another one checks Thomas, who's sitting up and cradling his arm.

"I'm fine," Thomas stresses. "I'm fine, honestly. It's already healing."

Newt can't relax, despite Thomas' words. The person holding Gally back sags and lets go, allowing Gally, who's shifted back to human, to pass and approach Thomas.

To Newt's surprise, Gally extends a hand and helps Thomas stand.

"You alright?" Gally asks, and Thomas nods, moving his shoulder in small circles as the bone heals itself.

"Careful, Gally. Someone might think you care," Thomas muses.

Gally snorts and shakes his head. "You almost had me," he teases. "Guess you're just not good enough."

"Damn, Gally, you wound me," Thomas mocks, holding his hand to his chest. 

"Literally," Gally smirks, pointing to his shoulder.

"You have no proof," Thomas replies, moving his shoulder as if the wound never occurred. 

Newt sags where he's standing, watching as Thomas grabs a new t-shirt from the spare pile at the end of the mat and heads into the woods, presumably to go on watch.

He turns around to find Teresa watching him.

"What?"

She smiles and shakes her head. "Nothing."

Newt huffs and rolls his eyes.

He doesn't want to wonder why he felt incredibly protective of Thomas when he was hurt, or why his instinct was to go and see if he was okay. He doesn't want to wonder because he doesn't want to know the answer.

The rest of the day's continue in the same layout. Teresa wakes him up at dawn, they train the children defenses until lunch, Newt then spends the afternoon to himself either wondering around the gardens and woods or sitting in his bedroom. Him and Brenda cook dinner, and the only time he sees Thomas is when the brunette drops off his blood bag while everyone else is eating. Newt's been meaning to ask where Thomas is getting the blood, especially as Newt can tell its human and also fresh. 

When Thomas leaves the dining hall, only coming into to dump the blood bag down and leave again, Newt gets up and runs after him.

"Thomas!" He calls.

The brunette stops where he's walking down the hall, turning around and looking mildly surprised it's Newt who's chasing after him.

Newt's stomach twists when a speckle of nervousness leaks into Thomas' expression. It's gone a moment later, but Newt knows it was there.

"I. . ." he swallows, forcing his voice to be more steady. "Where are you getting this blood from?"

"I know a vampire from when I was younger. We kept in contact and I've done him a few favors in the past," Thomas replies. "Don't worry. It's not poisoned, if that's what you're worried about."

Newt nods. "Thank you. For getting them for me, everyday."

Thomas smiles. "Can't let you starve to death, can I?"

*****

The first attack comes 2 days later.

It's just after lunch and Newt was in the gardens making daisy chains with Liala. Newt has just finished the crown for the small girl when the sound of explosion goes off, followed by a series of screams.

Newt shoots up, scrambling to his feet, ears leading him to the source of sound. He looks into the distance, beyond the trees were the watch tower stood. Smoke surrounds the swaying tower before the base begins to give. The tower crashes to the floor with a ground shaking sound, smoke and dust gathering around it in a large cloud.

Everything is silent for a short few moments before chaos breaks loose.

Newt turns to the pack. Screams and howls sound, shouts of fright and the older teens scrambling round to gather the children. Teresa appears at Newt's side, she instantly pulls Liala into her chest in attempt to comfort the crying child. Teresa herself looks frightened for her life. Her eyes are wide, face pale and Newt has never seen her look so scared.

Behind him, Thomas stands on the porch. A low growl escapes his lips and the brunette fully shifts into a wolf. Newt watches him bolt through the gardens and into the trees in the direction of the fallen tower. Following him, Minho and Jorge sprint past.

"Newt," Teresa says, snapping him out of his superior. "Help me get all the kids inside."

Newt nods and while Teresa lead Liala inside, he rounds up the remaining children who were all crying in fear.

"What's happened?" Chuck asks when Newt told him to go inside. The boy has fat tears rolling down his flushed cheeks.

"I don't know," Newt replies. What is he meant to say? "Let's just get inside, okay?"

The children are gathered quickly. Together, they are all ushered into the center of the house - the den. Each sofa, chair or bean bag is occupied by the time Newt gets it there.

He follows Teresa out and they wait on the porch. In a matter of a few minutes, Newt sees Minho and Thomas carrying Winston through a clearing. Newt would never verbally admit the relief he felt when he saw the brunette second appear, safe and sound.

"We need to get him to the infirmary," Thomas says when their close to the porch stairs. Newt grimaces at the sight of the injured boy. His clothes are dirty and torn, visible blood patches on them. A trail of blood runs profoundly from a cut on the boys eyebrow, leaving a wine-red smear down his face. Every visible sight of skin is covered in growing bruises. Newt can't imagine what might be broken beneath the skin.

"Why isn't he healing?" Newt asks as they make their way to the infirmary. The two boys in from of him grunt occasionally due to the dead weight of Winston.

"The body can only hand a maximum amount of pain. If it gets too much, the body can't function properly because all it's energy goes to trying to stop the pain," Thomas responds as they enter the infirmary. The room is long, stretched and on each side is a row of beds. Each with their own navy blue curtains and equipment trolleys. The room is stark white, fluorescent lights blaring from the ceiling and Newt has to squint his eyes momentarily. They put Winston on the nearest bed and while Thomas begins to prepare syringes and machines, Minho looks so unbelievably lost all of a sudden. As Thomas cuts off the remains of Winston's shirt, he continues, "so in our way, as werewolves, he hasn't got enough strength to heal himself and knit all the bones back together as well as keeping himself alive."

Thomas sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of Winston's chest that is littered with blossoming bruises. A water color of purples and blacks across his ribs, some look as if their bent inwards.

Newt feels physically sick to the point that he was half tempted to vomit in the bin at the end of the bed. He doesn't though, because Thomas is talking again.

"Teresa, I need you to get me a saline drip ready,"

Teresa nods and scurries off.

"I don't get it. Shouldn't he be healing already?" Minho says.

"I told you," Thomas says. "His body is witnessing too much pain, it can't function properly. We need to wait for the pain to recede bit at the same time, keep him alive. If he's got broken ribs, his lungs will be pressured and then his breathing is restricted. If he can't get enough oxygen to his brain then he'll die, werewolf or not."

Thomas is talking like he was on autopilot. Though he looks as panicked as a deer in headlights, his steady hands fill the syringe with a clear substance. He lines the needle up on the inside crook of Winston's arm. Newt turns away, feeling more nauseous at the sight of a needle.

He hears chuckling and he looks to see Minho shaking his head at him. Newt glares in return.

"Come on," Minho jerks his head sideways. "Let's see if we're needed somewhere else. We're in the way here."

Newt nods and they make way to the door.

"Minho," Thomas calls, and the pair turn around to face him. "Find Jeff for me.''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo, what'd you think? :)


	7. chapter seven

It's clear to say the watch tower explosion shook up the pack members. When Jorge returns, he announces the attack was clearly proceeded by the hunters. The announcement sends the pack into panic mode, firing questions and queries. The children continue to sit confused, looking terrified and sensing the older wolves fright. Jorge assures everyone that Winston is okay, that Thomas and Jeff had managed to stabilise him long enough for his body to start healing.

After the announcement, Jorge disappears into his office and doesn't exit for the entire evening.

The gardens are empty that night. No one leaves the house, no one sits near the windows and instead huddled together in the middle of the room. As soon as dinner is over, the kids are sent to bed and soon enough, the older members begin to disperse too. The days events clearly exhausting them.

The house is silent. The only thing to listen to is the steady heartbeats and slow breathing of the sleeping pack members.

Everyone was sleeping. 

Everyone apart from Newt.

He's been tossing and turning ever since he laid down hours before. His mind won't settle, thoughts won't stop. He's tense, muscles like coiled springs as he lays stock-stiff on the bed. 

He gave up sleeping when the small clock on his bedside table hit 4 AM. The many hours he'd just spent staring at his ceiling, reliving the moments of the crash, the ringing of everyone's screams, he's had enough.

He throws back the covers of the bed and jumps out, slipping on some socks and a pair of slippers Minho had given him when he complained about the cold - despite vampires being essentially dead, they still feel the cold and compared to a bunch of werewolves that are like walking heaters, Newt was considerably chilly.

He opens his bedroom door a crack and is greeted by darkness. The house is spacious, with large windows and sky lines on the top floor so the moon can shine in. The hallway from his bedroom is barely lit, but light enough they he can see the stretch of the corridor at the light at the end.

He frowns, someone is up?

It's then that he attunes in to notice that one heartbeat beats faster than the rest. He steps out, following the sound through the eery empty home.

He finds himself standing outside the infirmary, the florescent lights making the frame around the door glow in thin lines, like something out of a sci-fi movie. He opens the door a crack and looks in.

It's completely empty of people other than Winston, who still lays on the closest bed and another person, their back to the door and hunched over as they tower over the bed.

Newt steps in, and instantly, he knows the person at the bedside is Thomas. The beating of his heart picks up a notch, the action involuntary and Newt doesn't even realise it's happened until Thomas is looking over his shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, but his words hold no venom, or heat. He sounds exhausted, looks just as bad.

Newt approaches the bed and eyes the black veins crawling sluggishly up Thomas' arms where he's holding Winston's hand.

"Can I help with anything?" Newt asks, ignoring the initial question as he rounds the bed to stand on the opposite side to Thomas.

Thomas sighs. In the bright white lights, he looks dauntingly pale. "I had to reset some bones," he says. "I'm just trying to dial down the pain, help him heal."

Newt nods. Vampire's can't take pain, so he sits down on the plastic chair and watches.

It's not long before Thomas is shaking, letting go of Winston's hands when the black veins fade. He drops down in the chair behind him heavily, blinking rapidly.

Newt feels a un-ignorable urge to help, so he's up and grabbing a water bottle before he can think.

"Here," he says, handing it to Thomas, who looks just as surprised as Newt feels.

"Thanks," he murmurs, taking the bottle and uncapping it. He drinks half of it in one before he recaps it and puts it on the tray table on the bed, slouching in the chair.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Thomas asks.

"Shouldn't you?" Newt replies, raising an accusing eyebrow.

"I'll sleep when I know everyone is safe," Thomas says, eyes wandering over to Winston, who's pale but sleeping. "With the hunters out there, I don't know if I'll ever feel safe again."

Newt frowns.

"What did you mean earlier. . . when you said in Jorge's office that you 'couldn't do it again'?"

Thomas swallows thickly, the action audible and visible. Newt watches the skin over his throat move and ignores the way his mouth begins to water.

"When I was a child, I had a pack," Thomas starts. He sounds nervous and vulnerable, so Newt tries to prepare himself for the story to come. "I wasn't with Jorge, I wasn't with any of these people. I had a family, a huge one. When I was nine, we were attacked by the Tycen Hunters. The word got around that my father was an alpha, one of the strongest, most respected and admired alphas in the supernatural world. I. . . I'd snuck out the night the hunters attacked. I wanted to see the sunset, but my mother told me it was too dangerous. I didn't listen of course, and I snuck out when they thought I was sleeping. I went to the edge of the cliff and watched the sun go down. When I turned around, about to head home because the sunset was finished, I saw that the sky was still orange.

"I watched my family get burnt alive, and there was nothing I could do about it," Thomas' voice fades to a wavering whisper. "They tied them up to poles, drenched them in gasoline and set them on fire. I. . . I stood in the tree line, watching, because I couldn't push myself to run any further. So I watched, like a  _coward_. My dad spotted me, and he told me to run, but a hunter had already spotted me. They held me and made me watch until it was over. I could hear their screams for weeks. I bit the hunters hand and managed to get away. Jorge found me a week later, I was so hungry I was close to eating my own arm. He took me in, looked after me. He's treated me like a son ever since."

Thomas' eyes scream the pain that's clear in his tone. They've lost their focus, staring at the blanket covering Winston's body. Newt can tell Thomas is seeing something, reliving the story he just told.

And Newt wants to cry. Thomas has had it so much harder than him. He watched his family and pack get burned alive as a fragile and vulnerable age. He felt the pack bonds break, shattering like bones in his chest. He ran, living and surviving alone. He was taken in by a stranger, forced to carry on and grow up faster than he should have.

And now, he may have to do it all again. The hunters are back, and they could make him relive his biggest fear.

"Thomas. . ." Newt can't finish. He doesn't know  _how_. What's he supposed to say to that.

"It's okay," Thomas whispers. "It was a long time ago."

"That doesn't make it okay," Newt scolds. He feels like he needs to cry, which is  _stupid_ , because he should be comforting Thomas.

"It is," Thomas replies. "It was almost eight years ago. I'm over it."

"No you're not," Newt counters. "If you were over it, you wouldn't be nervous about them coming here."

The look Thomas sends him isn't a glare, but it's close to one. He looks at the floor a moment later, shoulders deflating slightly. Newt must have struck a heartstring.

"It's okay to be nervous," Newt says. "I am, and I haven't been through half the shit you have with them."

Thomas's shoulders shake for a moment with a hesitant chuckle, and it warms Newt's chest like nothing else. He can't help but smile.

"I just. . . every time I think of them coming here, I just. . ." Thomas trails off, "I feel like it's all happening again. I can hear the screams in my ears, smell the smoke. It's like I can't breath, like my lungs won't work and—"

"Like a panic attack?" Newt finishes.

Thomas lets out a heavy breath. "Yeah. . . and it sucks."

There's a pregnant pause and Newt can sense the waves of grief, guilt and sadness rolling off Thomas like a tsunami. It makes his heart ache.

"You're right, by the way," he says, and Thomas looks up in confusion. "I did run away from home."

Thomas nods slowly. "Mind me asking why?"

"My alpha was going to force me into marriage to keep the peace with another clan," Newt replies. "I didn't. . . I wasn't prepared to be sent off to another pack, into another group of people who only saw me as a piece of meat."

"That's rough," Thomas murmurs. "I can see why you ran away."

Newt laughs bitterly. "Alby even had the decency to call me a coward for not wanting to go. He said I had to do it for the good of the clan, that it was my 'duty' to go and serve as this other alphas partner."

Thomas doesn't say anything, and Newt is kind of thankful for that.

It feels strange to say it all out loud, to finally admit to someone that he was a run away. He was homeless, the only pack he has now is the werewolf one.

"I don't know if it will make you feel better or worse," Thomas begins. "But you can still marry even though we're mated."

Newt frowns. "What?"

"You haven't accepted the bite yet," Thomas replies. "Technically, you're not bound to me."

"But you're bound to me?" 

Thomas nods. "You can leave. You can be with someone else."

"But you can't?"

"No," Thomas answers. "And would it make you uncomfortable if I said I wouldn't want to if I could?"

It takes Newt a long time to answer, but when he does, he answers with every fragment of honesty in his body.

"No," he says. "That doesn't make me uncomfortable."

*****

Newt doesn't remember falling asleep, but the next time he opens his eyes, it's light outside. He's still in the hospital chair beside Winston's bed, who's sitting up and shovelling some red jelly out of a plastic cup. 

Newt startles, almost toppling out of the chair in surprise. Winston's eyes snap over to him, expression morphing into a shit-eating grin.

"Mornin', sleepin' beauty," he mumbles around a mouthful of jelly.

Newt rubs his eyes, chasing away the lingering sleep. He looks around when he realises Thomas' chair and see's it's only Teresa here with them, who's walking over with a glass of water.

"Where's Thomas?" Newt asks.

Teresa looks surprised at the question. "He went to get you some breakfast."

"Oh," Newt says lamely, slouching against the hard plastic. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

Teresa snorts. "I figured. You didn't look particularly comfy."

Newt frowns. "Then why didn't you wake me?"

"You needed the sleep," Teresa shrugs. "We all do."

She rounds the bed to stand opposite and takes the empty plastic pot from Winston, telling him to drink the water as she picks up the dinner plate from his tray table.

"What's the time?" Newt asks.

"A little after nine,"

Just then, the hospital door opens and Thomas walks in. He looks just as tired as the night before, but not half as pale as he was after taking Winston's pain.

He flashes Newt a warm smile as he hands him a blue ceramic mug, the contents wafting up to Newt's nose in a delicious swirl.

"Thank you," he says, taking a sip of the fresh, coppery blood inside the cup.

"No problem," Thomas replies. He looks to Winston, who was watching the scene unfold. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a watch tower collapsed on me," Winston replies, and then he breaks out a smile. "But I've felt worse."

Thomas scoffs, shaking his head and making his way around to the patients side. "How's the pain?"

"Manageable," Winston says. "And I'm serious, Thomas. No more pain-taking."

Thomas looks at him innocently with a hint of confusion, and Newt almost chokes on his beverage. 

"Fine," Thomas whispers. "You should be able to leave soon. If everything's healed and you're not in too much pain, that is."

"I feel fine now," Winston says.

"Of course you do," Thomas huffs. "You just want to get out so you can go and raid the fridge while Frypan is busy."

Winston gapes and Thomas gives him a unamused expression. 

"Yeah, I know about what you do,  _Fridge Bandit!"_

Winston lets out the loudest laugh as Thomas smirks and walks away. Even Newt can't stop the smile tickling the tips of his lips.

*****

The next attack is more brutal than the one before. Despite the higher security and awareness, it still comes as a surprise and no one is prepared. The training and the defence practise provides them with nothing against the vicious and gory attack.

It happens at noon, when the pack are just finishing lunch and heading outside for afternoon training. There's a group of wolves out by the old watch tower, cleaning up and beginning to build a new one when the attack comes.

They hear the screams just moments before they see it. Newt's head snaps up as soon as the screams sound, ringing from the construction site in the middle of the forest, and then he sees it: a green mist lingering in the forest, weaving through the trees and drifting closer to the home.

Newt stands up from where he's crouched, narrowing his eyes so he could see more clearly. The rest of the wolves have caught on, all of them looking with curiosity.

"What the. . ." Newt starts, but then someone is sprinting through the fog, stumbling and tripping. Their skin is red and raw, blistered with burns.

"Run!" They scream, and Newt recognises him as the wolf who he first met in the woods, who tackled him. "Get back! Get inside!"

"Oh god," Teresa gasps as her and Minho run forward, catching Ben before he collapses. The fog is just at the tree line, spilling through and hovering above the grass.

"Everybody get inside!" Jorge is shouting, running out to help grab the children.

Newt grabs Lila where she's standing at his side, curling an arm around her shoulders and pulling her back towards the house. 

The fog is moving faster, spreading out across the grass approaching the house. Newt stands on the porch just as Thomas comes barrelling out.

"Where's Stephen and George?" He asks.

Realisation daunts Teresa's face where she's helping the burnt wolf up the porch steps. 

"They were building the watch tower," she murmurs.

Thomas' face morphs into shock as he looks to the tree line. He moves to leap off the porch, but Minho is quick enough to grab him with arms around his abdomen and pull him back.

"No, Thomas!" He shouts. "Stop! You can't go out there!"

Thomas struggles in his arms. "We have to help them! Let go of me, we have to help!"

"There's nothing we can do! You'll just get yourself killed!" Minho shouts, and Thomas finally sags. "Help us get Ben inside, please."

Thomas nods, moving out of Minho's hold to help carry Ben as Newt and the others are ushered inside.

Another scream rings out, one so young and vulnerable it makes Newt's muscles go rigid. A child's scream. He looks over his shoulder, through the window glass just as the door shuts to see Sam running towards the house. Newt see's the moment the small child falls, his ankle twisting awkwardly as he falls and the pained cry that rings out.

Thomas is running out the door before Newt can blink. He's holding a blanket, the fabric waving in the air as he leaps down the porch steps and runs towards the child that is almost engulfed in the approaching fog.

Thomas reaches him just as the fog touched the soles of Sam's shoes. He crouches at Sam's feet, selflessly blocking the child from the fog with his own body as he throws the blanket over the child. Newt see's the way Thomas' pain suddenly twists with pain, twitching and jerking. Newt feels it, the burning sensation scorching his neck. He gasps and stumbles, balanced by Teresa who dashes to his side. Through tear-blurred eyes, he watches Thomas scoop Sam up, the child completely wrapped in the blanket. 

He's running with shaky legs, the fog wrapping around them like a blanket of it's own. The pain intensifies in Newt's neck, making his vision go white as Thomas is burned again and again.

He passes out just as Thomas falls through the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically i was going to have the child at the end thomas saves to be chuck but then i remembered chuck is a tubby kid and my lil baby tommy can't carry all that so i had to make up a small child character :(
> 
> i'm going on holiday tomorrow and won't be back until the following monday, so I don't know when i'm going to be able to get on to post the next chapter but i promise i won't leave you all hanging for too long! 
> 
> hope you enjoyed this chapter <3


	8. chapter eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't meant to be so long. I also suck at development. Seriously!

When Newt opens his eyes, everything is blurred. A bright white light shines down on him, stabbing small pins into his eyes and making his turn his head, eyes squeezed shut.

"—homas, stop! You need to— stay still!"

He opens his eyes, everything is still unfocused from the tears, unconsciousness still lingering like a bad smell. He see's bodies moving next to the bed beside his, someone struggling and pushing. He blinks, trying to chase the dark spots away. Everything was slowly coming into focus, falling back into place.

"Get off me! I need to help them," he hears Thomas, can hear the pain in his voice, laced with hysteria. "I need to—"

Newt blinks again, vision focusing on the mayhem next to his bed. He can see Minho and Teresa wrestling Thomas down on the bed. He see's scorched skin and horrific burns. He can smell the pain like acid in the room. Thomas is fighting against the other two wolves, panic rolling off him in tsunami waves, thick and suffocating. Newt could feel the rhythmic pulsating in his neck, all the previous events rushing back to him like a broken damn.

The hunters.

The gas.

He remembers now, the fog around his thoughts dissipating as he recounts the agony that exploded in his neck when Thomas was burned.

The infirmary door bursts open and Newt only catches a glimpse of Jorge before he's likes a dashing blur across the room, pushing through Minho and Teresa and grabbing Thomas. He takes the young wolf by the shoulders, shouting his name for his attention.

"Thomas! Thomas, look at me! Thomas, everyone is fine. You need to calm down and heal. Do you understand?"

Thomas let out a sob so broken that Newt can feel tears threaten to form in his own eyes as he watches.

"Newt. . . he's—"

"He passed out because of the mate bond," Jorge interrupts, moving his hands to Thomas' cheeks to hold them. Newt doesn't see the alpha anymore, he see's Thomas' father figure. "He's fine, Thomas. Newt is fine, Sam is fine. You, are not. You need to stay here and you need to heal."

"I hurt Newt," Thomas gasps out, and Newt doesn't know if he's crying because of Newt or if he's in pain - he can imagine both. "I hurt him, he passed out because of me."

"Yes, he did, because you're stupidly brave and I don't know whether to hit you for it or hug you," Jorge says, black veins crawling up his wrists and arms as he takes Thomas' pain, the teen apparently still in too much shock to realise. His hands are clutching Jorge's wrists, knuckles white and tendons visible under the skin from how hard they're squeezing. "You saved Sam, Thomas. You did fine. But now, you need to heal and so help me, I will get Teresa to bind you to this bed if you don't."

Thomas cracks a smile before he lets out a sob, falling forward at the same time that Jorge pulls him into his chest. Newt watches them hug, watches as Jorge's arms engulf Thomas, the younger wolf shaking against him as his soft cries are muffled against his alphas shirt.

Jorge looks over his shoulder without moving Thomas.

"Was the gas wolfsbane?" He asks.

Teresa nods. "Seem's so. He would have healed by now if it wasn't. We managed to wash the burns on his arms before he woke up, but his back and shoulders still need doing."

"Okay," Jorge nods, looking down at Thomas like he's his own child. "Should he be sedated for that?"

"It would probably be easier," Teresa replies, "But we know how he is, so he most likely won't want to be."

Jorge nods again, sighing sadly. "Thomas, they need to wash the wolfsbane out of your back so you can heal."

"I know," Thomas mumbles. "That's gonna suck."

Jorge huffs a laugh. "Yeah, kiddo. It is."

Thomas pulls back, eyes red and skin pale. "Do you promise everyone is okay?"

"Yes, Thomas," Jorge sighs. "For once, can you just be worried about yourself?"

Thomas smiles and Jorge ruffles his hair affectionately. Teresa comes over with a wheeled tray, washing equipment on top. Newt watches from where he lays, almost too scared to move, as Thomas sits cross-legged and hunched over, facing the head of his bed. Jorge stands on the side furthest from Newt, holding Thomas' hand and already taking the pain. Minho is tending to Alec's burns with Jeff.

"Are you ready for this?" Teresa asks, and Thomas nods, eyes clenched shut.

The process is horrific. Teresa has to scrub the burns to get the wolfsbane out as if she was scrubbing dirty dishes. Newt can smell the blood, see the awful blisters and wounds on Thomas' back that are scrubs and split. Thomas screams around the cloth they put between his teeth, tears streaming down his face. Newt can't watch, but he can't listen either. He's leaping out of the bed before he can contemplate it, crouching by the head of the bed, out of the way and grabbing Thomas' free hand, the fist clenched so tightly it looks like his knuckles are going to pop out from under his skin.

He feels the pain. Like a constant stab in his neck, but he won't let himself pass out. He needs to be here for Thomas.

Newt doesn't know how long it goes on for, but he isn't surprised when Thomas passes out. When Teresa finally dumps the bloody cloth in the wash basin and doesn't pick it back up, Newt slouches where he's kneeling with a sense of relief.

"Done," Teresa sighs. Her hands are bloody, as are her clothes. The sheets on the bed look like someone dropped a bottle of red wine. The entire scene reminds Newt horrible of a horror movie scene. "That should be it."

"Should be?" Newt almost shrieks. He can't witness that again. The pain in his neck was bad enough, he can't imagine the pain Thomas went through before he finally found relief in unconsciousness.

"I'm pretty sure I got all the wolfsbane out," Teresa says tiredly, looking just as miserable as the rest of them. "I can't be sure. We can only tell when they start healing."

"We should clean him up and get him on a fresh bed," Jorge suggests, Teresa nodding and already grabbing a clean wash cloth. She dabs gentle at the open wounds on Thomas' back, some of the more shallow burns already healing. She wipes the blood off, and somehow Newt thinks that makes it look a whole lot worse. He can see the burns now, the torn and ruined skin. One of them is so deep Newt is fairly sure he can see the white of Thomas' spinal bone. He can feel vomit hitting the back of his throat but he swallows it down. The place is messy enough without last nights dinner everywhere.

Teresa applies some simple bandaging to Thomas' back, saying it will help with the ones still bleeding before Jorge is scooping Thomas into his arms and lifting him off the bloody bed. Thomas is as limp as a rag doll as Jorge carries him over to the bed next to them, the one that Newt had been sleeping in. They lay Thomas on his front, face turned to the side and lay a blanket over him.

Newt is at his side the moments there's space, grabbing Thomas' hand like his life depends on it. He isn't sure where this is coming from, but he can't ignore it and there's a part of him that doesn't want to. His eyes dart over Thomas' sickly pale skin, colourless like he's been drained of blood. His eyes are sunken, profound purple half-moons bruising them.

He feels a hand touch his shoulder and he looks to see Teresa standing with a chair, offering him a warm smile. He mirrors the expression, taking the chair and sitting down, never letting go of Thomas' hand.

Teresa grins as she walks away.

*****

Newt doesn't mean to fall asleep, he only closed his eyes for just a second and then when he opens them again, the sun is setting outside the windows and the hospital room is empty. Thomas lays in the bed, still sleeping but having moved, almost curled around where Newt's head had been resting. Their hands are still together, Thomas gripping back despite being unconscious.

Newt hears the uptick of his heartbeat moments before Thomas blinks his eyes open. He seems disorientated for a moment, blinking sluggishly with glazed eyes, and then, like it had for Newt, it all seems to come rushing back.

He closes his eyes with a long, tired sigh.

"That sucked," he mutters, and Newt can't help but bark a laugh. Thomas' eyes blink open again, finding Newt immediately. His expression is warm and soft. "How long have you been here?"

"I never left," Newt replies, and Thomas looks surprised.

"You. . . stayed?" Thomas repeats, tone almost child-like.

Newt feels his heart race in his chest. He doesn't know what he's feeling or why, and he isn't sure if he likes it.

Thankfully, Teresa chooses that moment to burst in.

"You're awake!" She grins, eyes shining with relief and happiness. "You had me worried there for a moment, Tom. You scared us all."

"I think I scared myself," Thomas replies, smiling sheepishly.

Teresa's smile only widens. "Well, I'm glad you're okay now. You're not off the hook though. Me, Minho, Brenda _and_ Jorge are all going to kill you for being so shucking stupid."

"For what?"

"Running out into that fog, you shank!" Teresa's smile drops, and she looks more scared than angry. "Do you have any idea how stupid that was?"

"Sam was going to die," Thomas whispers. "I couldn't do nothing. And it's fine, Sam's okay, right? No heart, no foul."

"I remind you of that when I get nightmares about de-wolfsbane-ing your back," Teresa snarks, her shoulders slouch a moment later. "Look, I know you've only just woke up and you probably still feel awful, but we're having a ceremony later for Stephen and George."

Thomas' face pales. "Are they. . .?"

Teresa nods. "The guys found them this morning. Looks like they barely had a chance to run before they got caught in it."

Thomas nods, and Newt can see the early signs of him shrinking into himself. His face is a void of emotion, but Newt has learnt that Thomas projects everything he feels through his eyes.

"What about Ben?"

Teresa smiles. "You managed to get him inside in time. You probably got worse compared to him. He's all healed up."

Thomas nods, swallowing audibly. The guilt and anger in his eyes is as clear as a neon sign in the pitch black.

"We're going to have the ceremony after dinner," Teresa says. "Do you want to stay in here, or do you want to go and eat in the dining hall?"

Thomas shakes his head, closing his eyes. "I'm not hungry."

"Come on, Tom. If you eat any less you'll be skinner than Newt,"

"Hey!" Newt defends.

Teresa laughs at him, crouching down beside Newt and in front of Thomas, cupping his cheek. "Whatever guilt you're ruining yourself with right now, forget it. There was nothing more you could have done yesterday and as much as I hate that you ran into a cloud of wolfsbane fog, I'm incredibly proud of you. Sam's mum wanted to see you earlier while you were sleeping, so you can expect a visit from her later. She's incredibly grateful because you saved Sam."

"But—"

"Ah!" Teresa cuts him off. "No 'buts', Tom. You saved a little boy's life yesterday, and you have nothing, _nothing_ , to feel guilty for. So stop it."

"I wasn't," Thomas mumbles.

Teresa smiles sadly. "I've known you for a long time, Thomas. I know that you feel sick with guilt because we lost Stephen and George even though there was nothing you could do to stop it. I know you don't want to go to the lunch hall because you're scared people are going to hate you because your over-active mind has conjured up some weird and unrealistic reason that you've done something wrong and you're to blame. And I also know that you're smart. Smarter than that little voice in your head."

Thomas closes his eyes against the words, his grip on Newt's hand tightening, as if seeking comfort.

"Do you mind if I eat here?" He asks with a small voice.

Teresa strokes his cheek with her thumb. "Of course not. I'll go get you some food now."

"There's a bottle in the fridge for Newt," Thomas mumbles, sounding moments away from sleep. "It's an emergency one."

Teresa smiles. "I'll bring that too."

Thomas is asleep by the time Teresa gets back, so she asks Newt to make sure Thomas eats something before the ceremony in an hour.

Thomas only takes a few bites of his bread before he's up and walking out of the hospital. He's shaky on his feet, the little colour he had back in his skin washing out the moment he went vertical, but he determinately ignored everyones guidance back into bed and walked out.

The ceremony for Stephen and George was short but sweet. They had buried their bodies at the back of the house, along the tree line. The children had chosen flowers from the garden, smothering the dirty piles with them.

Jorge says a speech, choking up when he does. Thomas stands at the back, no one even noticed he'd come out of the house when he did. He stands between Newt and Minho, leaning on both of them to stay standing. While everyone has tears in their eyes or running down their cheeks, Thomas has nothing. His gaze is empty, expression emotionless, but just as before, Newt can see the emotional battle in his eyes.

As it turns out, wolves like to talk. Thomas is allowed to sleep in his own room that night, but as Newt stays outside with everyone else, having a drink in remembrance after Minho had taken Thomas to lay down, the vampire hears things.

Most of the wolves are admiring Thomas. They're calling his brave, courageous. Mothers say how they want their young ones to be like that when they're older. Some call Thomas stupid, and even Newt agrees with that on some terms. Thomas isn't stupid when it comes to intellect, but he's the kind of stupid who would put his life on the line a thousand times without a moment of hesitation.

Even Gally doesn't have anything bad to say. Since the first hunters attack on the watch-tower, Newt has noticed that Gally's snark and aggression has been dialled down.

Newt doesn't sleep well that night. He's unsettled, mind awake and alert. He wants to call it paranoia, but he knows it's a lot more than that.

*****

By the following evening, everyone is getting angsty. The attack has left them on edge, constantly waiting for another explosion or blow out. It seems to be exhausting everyone, making them unsure of what to do with themselves. If Newt thought the camp was tense before, the tension in the air now is so thick you could cut it with a knife.

He skips breakfast and instead spends the whole day in his room, rereading the book Teresa gave him. He was only half way through, but with all the chaos the last few days, he's completely forgot what had happened in the novel. As he lays on his bed, he feels unsettled, like he doesn't belong.

The commotion outside his door watches his attention. 

He opens the door and looks across to see Thomas and Minho, apparently arguing.

"Thomas, you need to rest," Minho is saying, tone so exasperated and bored Newt is surprised he's even trying.

"I don't," Thomas replies. "I'm fine. I don't need anymore shucking rest."

"Just have a lay down—"

"If I lay down anymore, I'm going to get bedsores and my muscles are going to turn to mush," Thomas argues, and Newt is startled by the snort he lets out.

The two wolves' snap their heads towards him, and his cheeks flush a horrific red at being caught.

Minho sighs heavily, looking back at Thomas. "You need rest."

Thomas lets out a frustrated shriek. "No, I don't! I'm almost healed, it doesn't even hurt anymore—"

"Thomas, I can smell the bullshit in your words more than I can smell Newt's embarrassment," Minho snarks, and Newt flushes a deeper ruby.

Thomas gapes, opening his mouth to say something, but the words seem to fall flat on his tongue and he closes his mouth. His shoulders slump in defeat.

Newt can't help but agree with Minho. He can see the burns on Thomas' bare arms, the only skin revealed by his rolled up sleeves. They are still blistered and rough, and Newt can barely imagine what his back must look like - considering it took the worst of the brunt.

"I can't just do nothing, Minho," Thomas murmurs, sounding like a sad child.

Minho huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine. You can make dinner with Newt."

"What?" Newt exclaims, stepping out of the room.

"Are you kidding?" Thomas snaps, speaking over Newt. "I said I wanted to do something, not make sandwiches!"

Minho smiles smugly. "That is doing 'something', Thomas. It's dinner or sleep. Choose one or I'll get Teresa and Brenda down here."

Thomas rolls his eyes, huffing a childish sigh. He levels Minho with a hard glare before he turns to Newt. "See you in the kitchen."

And then he's turning, walking down the hall and disappearing through the doorway into the dining hall.

Newt is still gaping, and when Minho looks at him, the wolfs expression only grows smugger.

"Off you pop, Greenie," he snarks, turning to go into his room. "Thomas can't do all the cooking by himself."

Newt finds himself in the kitchen a few minutes later. Thomas has already started, cutting up tomatoes silently to make a soup. Newt get's started on the sandwiches.

"I don't know why they put me in the kitchen," Newt begins, and he hears Thomas' chopping slow as he listens, "I've never eaten human food."

"You've never eaten food?"

"Blood is food to me," Newt replies with a light shrug, he turns around to go into the cupboard to see Thomas looking at him with surprise. "We didn't have the option to eat food where I lived. It wasn't normal."

"Shuck," Thomas whispers, looking like someone just told him the world wasn't round. He looks at Newt with a scary seriousness, "So you've never tried pizza?!"

Newt barks a laugh, nodding. "Yeah, I've never tried pizza."

"Does it. . . does it make you sick?" Thomas asks, completely abandoning the tomatoes as he turns to face him properly. "Does eating food make you sick?"

"I don't think so," Newt says slowly. "From all the history I know, human food doesn't make us sick, we can digest it, it's just not the normal thing. Vampires drink blood, so that's all we consume."

"Shuck," Thomas says again. His eyes light up and he goes to the fridge, pulling out a rosy red strawberry. "Here, try this."

Newt stares at it for a moment before he takes it. It's cold and rough in his hand. He takes a bite, waiting for it to explode in his mouth like a bomb.

And it does. A burst of flavour sets off in his mouth like a firework. It's cool, juicy and smooth. He can feel the seeds rolling over his tongue, the strong taste hitting the back of his throat like a punch.

He swallows, stock still like he's been shocked as he stares at the stalk and leaves of the strawberry that remains between his fingers. "Wow," he says, eyeing flicking up to meet Thomas'. "Wow!"

Thomas' eyes lighten up as he smiles. "You like it? You don't feel like you're gonna vomit, do you?"

"No. . ." Newt murmurs, face splitting in a grin. "Why haven't I done this sooner?!"

Thomas smiles, soft and warm. "I have no idea, but it tastes good, eh? Better than blood?"

Newt scoffs, raising an eyebrow. "To a vampire, nothing tastes better than blood, even your precious strawberries."

"Hey!" Thomas laughs, and  _fuck,_  if that sound doesn't do something to Newt. "I'll have you know  _you_  planted those strawberries!"

Newt laughs, dropping the leaf stork in the bin.

Thomas leans against the counter, watching him. "So, you gonna have some food with your blood tonight?"

"I don't know," Newt replies. "I might get mistaken for one of you."

Thomas laughs at the teasing, rolling his eyes. "I don't think that would be such a bad thing."

Newt can only chuckle. He feels an urge, almost un-ignorable, like a rhythmic pulsating, to lean forward and connect his lips with the wolfs in front of him.

He doesn't understand, and the sudden need to do it scares him enough to plunge the room into silence, the only sound being the slicing of the knives and splitting of food.

*****

It's Teresa who ruins the day.

It happens at dinner, when the dining hall is full of sound and clatter. They all sit at their usual table, Thomas, Minho, Newt, Teresa, Chuck, Gally and Winston. They talk about nonsense that Newt manages to tune out of, munching curiously on his sandwich. Human food is strange, he's decided, but also delicious. He's discovered he hates tomatoes, but he likes tomato sauce on pizza. So far, his favourite foods have been cheese, strawberries and chicken nuggets.

Newt was in the middle of chewing when two words caught his attention so abruptly he choked on the bread he was eating.

Minho snorts at him. "I know you're new at this whole eating thing, Newt, but you need to chew before you swallow."

"In some cases," Thomas mumbles under his breath.

Teresa glares at him. "Thomas, we don't need sexual innuendoes at the dinner table."

"Yes, mum," Thomas replies, grinning when Teresa only glares more.

Newt ignores them all, clearing his throat. "Did you. . . did you say _vampires_?"

"Yeah," Teresa says slowly, seeming confused at Newt's outburst. "Word is they're coming this way."

"Any idea when?"

Teresa shakes her head. "No, but apparently they're moving quickly. Looking for someone, they said."

Newt felt his breath quicken, face draining of blood. He distantly heard someone say his name, words dripping with worry and concern, but the blood was pounding too loud in his ears for him to hear. He slid away from the table like it burned him, practically sprinting out of the dining hall and bursting out the glass doors onto the back porch.

He stumbles onto the grass, breath stuck in his throat. This pack, it could be  _his_  pack. His pack are coming. They're coming for him.

Does he want this? Does he want to go home? What would happen? Would they still marry him off? Would they kill this pack to take Newt back?

What would happen to Thomas? To the mate bond?

So many questions swarm around in Newt's head, bouncing around like a tennis ball. It made his head spin, stomach churning. His legs were so shaky, but he needed space. He ran, sprinting through the tree clearing and into the forest, dodging the trees and leaping over logs.

He stumbles, the ground beneath him tilting as he jerks down the hill, ground becoming slippery and uneven. He manages to catch himself when he trips, close to eating dirt.

He falls through a clearing, the ground underneath him turning damp and squishy. He stands on a river bank, the stretch of a river wide, breaking the length of the trees that stand on the other side. The blue, murky water sways and ripples, rolling up the bank and dragging back down like fingers racking through dirt. He looks to his right and see's a wooden cabin with large windows and a slanted roof. 

Newt is out of breath, throat hurting. He stumbles to the house, knee's going weak as he slides down, sitting on the wooden porch on the cabin. He stares out over the expanse of the river, the dancing water's surface. The only sound is the rustling trees and the water moving along the muddy bank.

As the sun sets behind the trees, casting a soft, golden glow through the gaps in the forest, shining and reflecting off the waters surface, someone finds Newt. He doesn't look when he see's the movement in the corner of his eye, doesn't move his head or drag his attention away from the light glistening on the river.

Thomas doesn't say anything as he sits beside Newt, pulling his knee's to his chest and joining the blonde in looking out over the water.

It's Newt who breaks the silence like a sledgehammer to a window, shattering like glass.

"I don't want them to come here," Newt whispers.

"But they could be your pack," Thomas replies after a long moment, voice soft and gentle.

Newt shakes his head. "I thought they were, but I realise now we were never a pack. You guys. . . you're a pack. You're a family, you care and love each other, _fuck_ , you'd _die_ for each other. There is not one person in that damn clan that would die for me, not even my sister,"

Thomas says nothing, staying silent to let Newt vent.

"Fuck!" He curses frustratedly, dragging his hands through his hair. "I can't stand the idea of them coming here, taking me back. I don't want your pack to get hurt. Not again."

"I didn't realise you cared for them so much,"

"I care about all of them, you included," Newt snaps. Was he really _that_ cold towards them? "You're been a better family to me in the weeks I've been here than they were the 18 years I spent with them."

Thomas looks at him with his eyebrows so high they've almost reached his hairline. "You're eighteen?"

"Yeah," Newt replies, confused, the anger tense in his muscles loosening. "Why? How old do I look?"

"Honestly, about fourteen, but I was bargaining on sixteen,"

Newt gapes. "Fourteen?!"

"You have a baby face!" Thomas defends with a humoured laugh.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Not all of us can have high cheekbones and angelic faces!"

Thomas raises an eyebrow. "High cheekbones and angelic faces?" He teases.

"Shut up," Newt grumbles. Shit. . . that wasn't meant to slip out. It hadn't slipped his notice that he was beginning to realise the true beauty in Thomas, inside and out. How his eyes lingered on the teens face, how his eyes are like they're glued when the boy smiles, or laughs. Even when he has no expression, his face is mesmerising.

Newt feels almost hypnotised, eyes trained on the pale wolf next to him as he stares out over the lake, completely unaware that Newt is tracing every inch of his side profile.

"How old are you?" Newt asks.

"Seventeen," Thomas replies, finally meeting his eyes with a gentle smile. "I turn eighteen in a few weeks."

Newt nods, but he's unable to tear his eyes away from where they're stuck staring into Thomas' like he's falling into a pool of molten gold, swimming and absorbing. Thomas stares back, the constant creases of worry and frown in his face softening.

He isn't surprised when Thomas starts to lean in, slow and patient, as if giving Newt time to pull away. He doesn't. He's frozen but not with fear. He finds himself not wanting to move away, but to actually surge forward and connect their lips.

Thomas closes the gap, eyes flicking down to his lips before they connect, slipping against each other like perfect puzzle pieces, slotting and moving. He tastes sweet, breath hot on his tongue.

Thomas is jerking away, eyes wide, an apology spilling like vomit. "Shuck— I'm so sorry! I didn't—"

"Shh," Newt is murmuring, eye lids heavy as if he's had a shot of ecstasy. He smashes his lips into Thomas again, hand cupping his cheek when the teen lets out a startled grunt. Newt doesn't know what's come over him. Kissing Thomas is like an addiction, and his chest aches when he thinks of stopping.

Thomas kisses back with just as much need and passion as Newt pours into his, bitting his bottom lip hard enough to make the blonde let out a breathless groan. He feels dizzy, lungs screaming, burning as they're starved of oxygen but Newt simply can't pull himself away. He's scrambling to his knees, hands resting on Thomas' shoulder, grabbing the skin and bone with strength.

Thomas recoils suddenly, his lip barely lifting off Newt's enough to gasp the words out, "Newt, are you sure you—"

"I'm sure," Newt pants, slamming his lips against Thomas' again.

The thought doesn't register him until much later, but was he sure?

*****

It's the sun that wakes him.

He's on his side, head cushioned on something small and hard. The sound of rolling waves reach his ears and he blinks his eyes open, the sun instantly penetrating them like small pinpricks. He chases away the remains of sleep, eyes falling into focus before he realises what's happening. Or, more accurately, what  _happened_.

His head is laying on Thomas' arm, who has it extended out while from his body, that is curled in on his side. His head in tucked down against his chest, his free arm curled into his chest. He looks shockingly innocent, small and child-like. Newt barely has another moment to stare as Thomas begins to wake up, ridiculously long eyelashes - and  _seriously_ , who even has eyelashes  _that_  long? - fluttering before they're peeling open. The whiskey orbs settle on him instantly, and a small smile takes residence upon Thomas' face.

Newt barely has the strength to return the smile, and he's pretty sure it looks more like a grimace.

Fuck, what the hell has he done? He kissed Thomas. He _made out_ with Thomas. He wanted it, he still—

No. No, this is  _not_  happening. Whatever he's feeling, it must be manipulated by the bond. This can't. . . this  _can't_  be his decision.

But it is, and the realisation hits him harder than when Ben tackled him in the woods all those long weeks ago, before he ever met Thomas, before he was bitten, before he began to develop something he can't explain.

Thomas must sense his discomfort, reading his emotions like an open book on his face. He sits up, slowly extracting his arm from under Newt's head. The loss of his makeshift cushion makes Newt sit up too.

They sit in an awkward silence.

"We should head back," Thomas says eventually, already standing up. His clothes are rumpled and dirty from sleeping on the forest floor.

Newt looks up at him. "Don't you want to talk about it?"

"Do you?"

It takes a moment for him to choke the word out. "No."

"Then no, I don't. We'll talk when you're ready," Thomas replies without a beat.

Newt felt something in his chest he can't describe. Thomas is so caring, it almost makes him envious of how easy the Wolf finds it to brush aside his own wants, his own feels in the spare of others. Thomas will wait for him, Newt realises.

They walk back to the camp in silence. The old sound to be heard is the ground under our feet crunching and cracking with the weight of our footsteps and the rusting of trees. Birds hoot and chirp, but neither of them say a word. 

They barely make it to the green of the houses gardens before Jorge is coming up to them. He doesn't even look at Newt, or even acknowledge his presence. His eyes are on Thomas, jaw set in stone like usual, but his eyes hold a a softness - a softness only held for Thomas.

"Have fun camping?" He asks, a small smile twitching the corners of his lips. "Listen, Thomas, I need you to go on watch for me today."

Thomas nods. "Sure."

"I can do it," Newt offers.

Jorge finally looks at him, eyes hardening. "No," is all he says before he nods at Thomas as a silent thanks, and then he's walking away.

Newt stands, feeling uneasy and lost, as he watches Jorge go back to the house. He turns to look at Thomas, but the wolf is already disappearing back through the trees.

His shoulders slouch and deflate. He really is hopeless.

He turns and heads towards the house, entering the dining hall with intention to see if Thomas had anymore back-up blood in the fridge as he evidently didn't get any fresh this morning, when a pair of hands grab him by the shoulders, roughing dragging him away from the kitchen entrance and practically throwing him down the hall. He's shoved into a room so fast he doesn't even know whats happening and who it is. He stumbles into the bedroom, one much nicer and larger than his, when the hands finally let go and he turns.

Teresa stands at the door.

"What the hell!" He curses, but Teresa is slamming the door behind her and advancing towards him. His protective instincts kick into overdrive, he can feel his claws coming out when a deep voice rumbles from the bathroom doorway.

"Don't even think about it," he turns, Minho standing in the threshold, eyes calm but hard as he stares at Newt like a enemy.

"What the hell is going on?" Newt snaps.

Minho and Teresa look at each other, neither of them softening their glares as they turn to Newt again.

"We know what you're doing, and it needs to stop," Teresa says.

Newt's eyebrows stretch to his hairline. "Doing what?"

Teresa rolls her eyes. "You know what."

"No I don't!" Newt shouts, patients running as thin as the claws at the tips of his fingers. "I have literally no bloody clue what the hell you're talking about!"

Teresa bares her canines. "We saw you coming back in this morning with Thomas. We knoq you spent the night together. If you don't have true feelings for Thomas, then you need to stay the shuck away from him. Do you understand? Thomas is too nice to see through you, to recognise the signs. He's too kind to push you away, to turn his back even though he knows he's going to get fucked over. He's been through enough. So _leave him alone_."

Newt gapes, mouth flapping open and closed like a suffocating fish.

What. The. _Fuck_.

"You. . . I. . . I don't—"

"Do you care about Thomas?"

"Yes,"

"Do you feel for Thomas the same way he feels for you?"

Newt doesn't reply instantly. The words spin around in his head like ingredients in a food whisk; too fast for him to process them before they all blur together.

He hears Teresa scoff and he meets her eyes. They're stoney, just like the first time they met. He never thought he'd get that look from her again.

"Think about it," Teresa says. "And consider yourself warned."

*****

Days pass without a single sign of the hunters.

Everyone is just as defensive as before. They don't let their guard down, their awareness slip. It's exhausting. The constant paranoia plays on their minds, the smallest sounds making them jump.

Newt stays away from Thomas, partially because of Teresa and Minho's threats, but mostly because he himself can't tell if his urges for Thomas are because of the bond, or if he really and truly likes him.

Thomas himself, stays away too. He keeps his distance, doesn't approach Newt apart from to give him a fresh blood bag every morning and night, and then he's disappearing again. He's far away, but close enough for Newt to go to him, when he's ready.

Thomas has completely healed from the hunters gas, his skin smooth and unscarred. Newt resists the urge to reach out and touch it, to feel the radiating warmth.

One night, sleep resents Newt. He tosses and turns for hours, restless and uncomfortable. His foot twitches and shakes at the bottom of the bed. He has too much energy, his head is too full with thoughts. Sleep is futile, he decides when his bedside clock strikes three, so he gets up and goes to the kitchen. As he walks through the dining hall, heading towards the kitchen with the delicious craving of strawberries on his mind, something outside the window catches his eye.

He gets ready to shout, to alert everyone, but he soon discovers that what outside is far from a threat, but possibly a blessing.

He discards his needs for strawberries and walks out onto the porch.

In the middle of the grass, someone sits in a large, wicker-woven chair. Their back is to the house, and from where he's standing, Newt can see that they're curled up, feet on the chair and a blanket wrapped around their cuddled frame.

"What are you doing out here?" Newt says.

Thomas looks over his shoulder at him. He doesn't seem surprised Newt is there, and the vampire supposes that's what the heightened senses are for.

"Couldn't sleep," he replies.

Newt nods. "Nightmares are a bitch."

Thomas smiles, nodding, but not saying anything further. Newt gets it. The only thing worse than having nightmares, is  _talking_  about having nightmares.

He grabs the wicker chair from further down the porch, picking it up and carrying it next to Thomas where he sits, sinking into the cushion they've strapped to it.

It feels good to be so close to Thomas again. They'd been tiptoeing around each other for almost a week, dodging each other like the plague. Newt hates it, despite him being the one who's causing it all. He knows what Thomas is doing: keeping his distance for Newt to make the first move, and not out of cowardice, but out of kindness, consideration and sacrifice. He knows Thomas' urges must burn through his veins, so much stronger than Newt's, and yet Thomas hasn't done anything to act on them.

Newt doesn't know if he's grateful or disappointed.

"How often do you do this?" Newt asks, words soft in the air. He doesn't want to ruin the moment, the tranquility of the night.

"Most nights when I can't sleep. I've always liked being outside at night, to look up to the sky and see the stars," Thomas murmurs, voice gentle. Newt feels a spark of concern at the thought of Thomas being brutally woken by nightmares, finding his only salvation from coming outside where he is exposed. "It makes me feel less alone. And to make it all super cheesy, I've always believed the stars are souls, and that my family are truly looking down on me."

"It's not cheesy," Newt assures. "It's sweet."

It's peaceful outside, almost therapeutic. Newt never saw stars like this back at home, the lights from the houses and security towers casting too much of a yellow hue into the sky, chasing away the stars from sight. But he can see hundreds here, thousands, millions. They glisten like sunshine on water. The longer Newt stares, the more he sees.

"Do you know any constellations?" Thomas asks.

Newt turns to look at him, the wolf's attention on the stars above. Newt tries not to stare at his neck, bent and bared as he looks up, the milky skin stretched over the tendons and muscle of his throat.

"No," he swallows. "Do you?"

"No," Thomas replies, smiling, finally breaking his gaze from the stars to look at Newt. "I've always wanted to know, though. Always imagined it would be pretty cool to sit under the stars and be able to identify them."

"Yeah, it would be pretty cool," Newt agrees. He wants to reach out, to use his finger to connect the dots of Thomas' moles. They look their own star constellation. "Why don't you learn?"

Thomas shrugs, looking down at his lap. "Haven't had the time."

"Maybe you will after all of this is over," Newt offers, but he knows the idea is false hope. This might never be over. There will always be hunters, there will always be a threat. Thomas has lived his entire life running, fighting and healing.

Newt can't tear his eyes away from him. He's hypnotised again, gaze stuck on the wolf next to him, who's attention is back to the stars. He looks so relaxed, so at peace. The only time Newt has ever seen him like this was the morning by the lake, in those few precious moments when the wolf slept on. 

"Thomas," he whispers, almost too quiet to hear.

The wolf looks at him, white skin glowing. He hums in response.

Newt doesn't know what to say. He wants to say something, to throw his feelings out in the open so Thomas  _knows_  he feels  _something_ , but he can't. The words get stuck in his throat, mind blanking like a faulty lightbulb, on and off and on and off.

Thomas must sense Newt's inward battle with himself, because he slowly reaches over the arm of the chair, the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders and chest. Newt meets in the middle.

He's breathless the moment their lips touch, sparks of electricity shooting down his spine like he'd been shocked. His heart soars, blood igniting with rocket fuel as it sizzles and shoots through his veins like volts. 

He doesn't know how long they kiss for, how long he goes without breathing, but when they pull away, resting their foreheads together, Newt is puffing like he's never breathed before. Oxygen floods his burning lungs, his lips are wet and trembling. 

"I know what I want, Thomas," he finally says. He opens his eyes, forehead still pressed against the wolfs, who's eyes are closed.

Newt grabs his hand, his warm skin soft and perfect against his own.

"I want you, Thomas,"

Newt is blinded by his smile.

When Newt wakes up the following morning, he feels complete. He's curled up next to Thomas, their bodies so close and touching that Newt can feel the heat from Thomas' skin pouring into his through the clothes and blankets. They're still outside, the sun only just beginning to rise on the horizon behind the trees. Thomas is still sleeping, this time his head resting on Newt's arm that is curled around his neck and resting on his back. Newt can't help but think about how much everything has changed, how he doesn't want to go home, the idea making his stomach churn. Every fibre of his being, despite him not accepting the mating bite yet, the bond not fully formed, wants to be with Thomas.

He stares in wonder and admiration at the selfless, beautiful wolf beside him. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to Thomas' soft and warm forehead, the action causing the teen to stir. Instantly, the relaxed expression on Thomas' face faults, disappearing, becoming less soft and line-free. Newt sighs quietly, wishing Thomas could sleep forever so he can always look at peace.

Thomas blinks his eyes open, and he looks almost surprised that Newt was beside him, still curled with him, his arm still around his neck.

Newt smiles, a silent reply to say _I stayed_.

Thomas smiles back, features glowing.

It's Newt who connects their lips again.

*****

The next night, Newt can't sleep again.

He tosses, he turns, he sighs and jerks and thrashes in the bed when the frustration bubbles over. He feels restless, too awake but exhausted at the same time. He throws back the covers aggressively and storms from the room.

He doesn't know where he's going, what he's going to do but he needs to go. Something is calling him.

He shouldn't be as surprised as he is when he finds himself stopping in front of Thomas' bedroom door. He's knocking before he realises, the rasp of his knuckles against the hard wood echoing down the hall.

He panics, ready to bolt when he hears a mumble inside.

He opens the door enough to stick his head inside. It's dark for a moment, and then light is flooding the room.

Thomas is half laying, half sitting in the double bed, the covers pooled around his boxer-covered waist. He's wearing a plain white tee, exposing his collar bones as it overhangs his shoulders. He's rubbing his eyes, frowning when he see's Newt at the door.

"What's wrong? Is everything okay?" He asks, panic laced in his tone. His expression morphs into concern, looking like he's ready to rip back the covers. "Are  _you_  okay?"

Newt nods, he swallows around the dry lump in his throat. "Yeah. . ." he shifts, wringing his hands together. "I. . . it's silly."

"What's happened?" Thomas asks, still looking half asleep. Newt imagines he hadn't been sleeping long.

"Nothing," Newt says lamely. "I just can't sleep."

Thomas nods, letting out a breath. He smiles gently. "It's probably the bond. Sorry, I should have mentioned it's hard for mates to sleep separately. It's probably worse now."

Newt nods. "It's definitely worse now."

"Sorry,"

"It's not your fault," Newt replies, and it's the truth. None of this is Thomas' fault. "Do you. . . do you mind if I sleep in here?"

Thomas replies by wordlessly moving to the far side of the bed, the side pressed against the wall as he lifts the covers as an invitation.

Newt slides in, instantly enveloped in the heat of Thomas' body where it had previously been. His bed is so much comfier than Newt's, softer and so  _warm_. Newt lays down with a sigh, melting into the mattress like a bowl of ice cream in the sun.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude," Newt whispers after he'd turned the light off, plunging the room into darkness.

"It's fine, Newt,"

They're laying on their sides, not touching, but facing each other. Newt can already feel himself slipping into a sleepy relaxation.

"Do you mind?" He asks.

"You've already asked me that," Thomas replies, words already slurring slightly to show he was going back to sleep. "The past two times we've been alone together, you've kissed me. If I mind, I would have told you to shuck off when you did."

"Good," Newt nods, even though he knows Thomas most likely can't see him.

There's a beat of silence. "Do you mind?"

Newt frowns into the darkness. "Mind what?"

"Being in here," Thomas whispers, so quiet it's like he's scared of saying it out loud. "Being with  _me_."

"Thomas, I basically declared my love for you last night," Newt replies.

"I just want to make sure," 

Newt feels a smile tug at his lips. His chest feels warm.

"No. I don't mind. I want this, Thomas," he explains. "I realise that now."

A hand, warm and skinny, grabs his own under the covers. 

"Good."

*****

It becomes routine after that. Newt doesn't even bother going to his room at the start of the night. Him and Thomas sleep together, sometimes curled into each other, sometimes barely touching.

He begins to realise why Thomas always looks so tired and worn down. He's a light sleeper, woken up by the slightest of sounds. He's up before everyone else, up and out of the house, usually back before anyone has woken. He's the last to go to bed, always doing something - very often coming back from watch. On the nights he stays up the watch tower, Newt feels the unsettled feelings coming back. They're not as bad as before, mostly because he's wrapped in Thomas' bed, surrounded by his scent, but it's still there. On those nights, he wakes up in the morning to Thomas crawling back in bed, looking tired and worn, muttering about there being a fresh blood bag in the fridge (which he still gets, day in, day out, despite Newt now eating normal food too) before he's dropping off to sleep. Newt never gets straight out of bed on those mornings. He'll lay there, wrapping himself around Thomas and indulging in the heat, the comfort and the soft sounds of his slow breaths. He kiss Thomas' forehead when he finally gets up.

Nothing feels more natural. Even when Thomas falls asleep at the dining table in the hall, head cushioned on his folded arms, completely tapped out, and Newt finds his fingers running through the unruly chestnut brown locks like it's the most normal thing in the world. He see's Teresa and Minho's smiles, and he feels something warm and  _right_  explode in his chest like a confetti canon. 

Newt doesn't know if they're officially together. They're closer,  _much_  closer. They kiss, they cuddle, they sleep in the same bed, but Newt feels like they're still not there yet. There's still a barrier between then, a gap they need to leap and cross.

A week later, Newt is in the gardens, planting tomatoes with one of the children when Jorge comes up to him, saying he needs Newt to go on watch because no one else is free. The alpha seems reluctant, unsure and the way he speaks bleeds with unspoken warning and threats.

It's no where near as exciting as Newt had thought. The initial amazement is from the view, as he's so high he can see everything - not that there is much to see. He can see the boarder line, where the forest becomes much thinner, so thin he can see the grass and flowers on the forest floor. After a while, the view becomes boring. He sits, slumped against the posts, legs hanging over the edge and swaying back and forth.

Thomas comes up later, surprising Newt out of his mindless thoughts.

"What are you doing here?" Newt asks.

Thomas sits next to him, mirroring his position. He shrugs, "Have nothing better to do."

"Is this all you do all day?" Newt asks, motioning around him. "Just sit here and watch."

"Well, it is called 'watch' for a reason," Thomas teases.

"It's so boring," Newt sighs.

"It's meant to be. All the while it's boring, everyone is safe,"

Newt knows he's right, and he regrets the wish for something exciting to happen when he sees movement on the boarder, recognising it instantly.

Every muscle in his body tenses so fast it hurts. The world slows, his mind reeling, breath getting choked in his throat.

No. No! This can't be happening. He has to be hallucinating.

Thomas must notice it too, for moments later, he's rising to his feet.

It's Alby, standing at the boarder. Moments later, everyone is stepping into view, crowded around. Newt can see their black eyes, their predatory stance.

Suddenly, his clan are making a sound, loud and ruthless. It goes down to his bones, shaking them. He feels his skin prick with goosebumps, his hairs standing on end.

"What is that?" Newt asks, voice high with hysteria and panic.

"A battle cry,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the only thing that happened in this chapter was just them sleeping and Newt waking up moments before Thomas. So repetitive, apologies!


	9. chapter nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really short, and I also suck at writing action sequences.

His feet pound the dirt as he runs. The ground turning into a brown blur as he bolts, through the trees and over fallen logs towards the camp. His footsteps are loud, thundering through the echoing forest. His breath is hard and short, the panic gripping him like a vice, constricting his lungs and making it harder to run.

Newt feels a sense of deja vu. He's on the run again, his clan behind him. Only this time, he isn't running alone, and he has somewhere to go.

Thomas is in front of him, a silhouette in the trees ahead. Thomas is like a blur of legs and arms, sprinting further and faster than Newt.

He can hear them behind him, they blinding footsteps getting louder and heavier and closer. They're approaching fast, sprinting like air towards them and the cabin.

Thomas breaks the clearing first, Newt a second behind him. Everyone goes rigid at their entrance. Jorge, who is standing on the porch, talking to Brenda, turns to them, expression turning stony with dread. 

"The vampires are here," Thomas announces, sounding out of breath.

Chaos breaks loose in a weird rhythm of order. Jorge is ordering the children inside, the medics and the young away from the fight. They barely get them inside before Alby is bursting through the trees. Newt, who stands just by the clearing, turns around, startled. His eyes lock with Alby's, who's are melted red and crazed. An arm wraps around his chest and he's being pushed back, Thomas standing in front of him.

The rest of the clan appear. They all look haggard and dirty and Newt wonders just how long they have been searching for him. They're huffing and puffing, panting like a predator finally cornering their prey. Their white fangs glisten in the afternoon sun, their clawed hands tense at their sides.

Newt is terrified, he's never seen his pack so. . .  _feral_.

He spots Sonya among them all, and his heart finally sinks.

"Somethings wrong," Newt whispers to Thomas. 

The teen wolf looks at him like he's gone insane.

Newt pushes on. Something isn't right. He can sense it. This isn't his pack.

"They're not normally like this, Tommy," Newt murmurs, knowing the wolves behind them can hear. 

"Newt. . ." Thomas starts, and Newt knows he's going to deflect his comment. Thomas doesn't know his pack, he doesn't know them as humans or as vampires.

He heaves a harsh sigh. "No, Thomas. Bloody hell, something is  _wrong!_  Their eyes. Look at their eyes."

"They're red," Thomas replies, finally catching on. His eyes widen, and Newt can see them flicking from every member of the pack. Newt should have noticed this sooner.

"They're meant to be black. I don't-"

He cuts himself short when someone else appears, standing behind his old clan like a violent king behind his army.

It's the hunters.

He feels Thomas stiffen next to him, every muscle in his body tensing like he's been shocked. He can hear his heart jack-hammer, picking up dangerously as his breath gets stuck in his throat. 

The man grins, as if he can sense Thomas' sudden panic. He can probably see it. Newt can hear members of Thomas' pack approaching them, coming into a defensive stance.

"You're not welcome on our land," Jorge starts, voice low and threatening.

The hunter laughs, more appearing behind him. 

"Who? Us, or our army?"

"Both," Jorge replies shortly. "This is pack land. Not for the likes of you."

"You're dogs. Abominations. You own nothing," The main hunter replies. "We're going to rip your little pack apart."

The vampires snarl, all at once, loud and vicious and feral. Newt can't feel the old bond between them all anymore. A vampires bond to another vampire is nothing as strong as ones in a wolf pack, but they still exist. 

"They're being controlled," Thomas says with realisation.

Newt looks at him in confusion, but the teens eyes are on the vampires before them. Newt looks at his old clan: their red eyes, their saliva dripping fangs, their panting hunger. This isn't his pack. The eyes alone show something is wrong, something has changed.

"Well done, Thomas," the hunter sneers. "You've gotten smarter. Shame, really. Too bad you weren't smart enough all those years ago to save your family."

Thomas snarls, loud and vicious. His eyes bleeding a vibrant gold, fangs dropping. 

The hunter laughs sadistically. "All growl and no bite."

"What have you done to them?" Newt snaps. He can't take his eyes off Alby.

The hunter flashes him a smug smile. "We've joined forces. Vampires are obviously the smarter species, and the most controllable. They make lovely soldiers."

"This is sadism. Let them go!" Newt shouts.

The hunter sighs. "Listen here, I know what you are, so I'm going to give you the choice. You can come and join us, or you can stay with your  _dogs_ , and be killed."

He spat the word 'dogs' like it was a piece of dirt on the tip of his tongue. Newt see's the wolves around him shift and tense, as if they're waiting for him to betray them.

Newt looks to his side, eyes meeting Thomas'. Those big, brown, bambi eyes that New gets lost in whenever he makes the mistake of falling in them. They're swimming with emotion now. Fear, guilt, anger, sadness. Thomas speaks through his eyes, and right now, Newt can hear them loud and clear.

_Are you going to leave me?_

No, Newt thinks to himself. No, Thomas. I won't.

He turns back to the hunter within his old clan. The man who stands proud and tall, a gun in his left hand. He's smirking, lips in a cocky slant on his thin, aged face. Newt wants to slice the smirk straight off.

"Over my dead body," Newt snarls. 

The hunter laughs, long and low. "Oh, boy, you've really chosen the wrong side."

Alby lunges first, going straight for Newt, his claws poised and fangs reaching. He's tackled out of the air, his claws inches from grasping Newt's neck. 

Thomas and Alby roll on the floor in a mass of snarls and swiping claws. 

All hell breaks loose after that. Newt doesn't have a chance to think before he's being tackled, thrown to the ground with a humiliating yelp. Good thing no one else is listening, as they're all in the chaos of the fight. Newt looks up to see Aris, kneeling above him and snarling like a feral animal he isn't. Aris raises his arm, claws poised and Newt throws up his arms to block the swipes. He feels the flesh of his wrists get ripped to ribbons and finally, he has enough. He smacks Aris' hands out of the way, slicing his own claws along the vampires shoulder and collar bone. Aris lets out a startled shriek, distracted enough for Newt to shift under him and bring his leg up. He kicks his old clan mate in the chest, sending him sprawling backwards with a choked gasp. His head hits a random rock and he jerks, falling still.

As soon as Aris is off him, Newt looks around and feels his heart ultimately sink. 

It's a war zone. There's blood, bodies, snarls and growls. Wolves and vampires paint the grass, the heartbeats of the wolves rabbiting loudly in Newt's ears. He finds Thomas through the crowd, fighting against Alby's second. He can see the blood on their clothes, the saliva dripping off their fangs. He can see the anger and fight in their eyes, the golden, glowing ring of Thomas'. 

Thomas is fighting with all his body. He dodges the blows like it takes no effort, using his whole height. He goes down, swiping the vampires feet out from underneath him and doesn't hesitate to leap on him, holding him down.

He can feel the twinges in his neck every time the claws catch Thomas' skin or his misses a block to a blow. He wonders if Thomas can feel his pain, or sense his distress.

Newt feels conflicted urges. He can't fight his own clan, but he also can't fight the wolves. He stays kneeling in the grass, his world shattering around him when finally spots the hunters beginning to approach the crowd, cocking their large guns. Newt feels his panic intensify and he jumps to his feet.

They are reason this is happening. They are the monsters in this war.

He heads towards them, but before he can even get close, Alby is standing in front of him.

"Alby—" he starts, but he can't finish.

Alby is swinging at him, his claws catching Newt on the shoulder as he jerks back. He feels his skin and shirt tear, but Alby doesn't back down. 

Newt blocks as many blows as he can, but Alby is trying to tear him apart. His blows are vicious and unhesitating. He swings and swipes and claws with all his might. Newt has never seen him so aggressive, so powerful and merciless. The red of his eyes stare deep into Newt, crushing him from the inside.

Newt fights back as much as he can. He dodges and blocks, throwing his own and catching Alby, feeling his claws rip through the fresh and muscle.

But Newt isn't a fighter. He never has been. He's always been all mouth and no bite. He doesn't have it in him to hurt, to attack, to kill. He ran away because he was strong enough to fight. But he can't run away now. He can't escape this. It's him or Alby.

Newt lets out a snarl as he takes a particularly powerful leap at Alby, catching his cheek. Four, thin red lines sit on Alby's cheek as his head snaps to the side with the force. It bleeds, smudging across his cheek and dripping off his chin. Newt freezes as Alby turns his head towards him. If possible, Alby looks even more gone then. There is nothing in his eyes apart of hot, red fury. 

He hears gun shots and shouts, screams of pain and struggle, but he can't look away. His entire focus is on his old leader.

He leaps at Newt so fast the younger vampire can barely realise what's happening until he's being slammed to the ground, his back sparking with pain and two hands clasping around his throat.

He chokes, his airways cut off. As his vision comes back into focus, he see's Alby above him, sitting heavily on his chest. His hands are tight around Newt's neck.

"Alby, please," Newt begs, choking. He can't do this anymore. "L-Listen to me. This isn't y-y-you. You. . . y-you need to f-fight this. You're not a monster, you're not a k-killer."

The hands around his throat only tighten. Newt can feel himself loosing grip on consciousness. His lungs burn, his body and bones ache. He's covered in blood, he's weak and beaten. He can't breath. Everything is blurring out of focus. He's on his last rope when Alby lets go.

He jerks and coughs, sputtering as he drags in a ragged, desperate breath. But before the fresh oxygen reaches his lungs, Alby's clawed hand is extended backwards and swinging.

He doesn't feel the pain at first, just the feeling of the flesh of his throat being torn to ribbons. He jerks, eyes wide with fear and shock. Blood floods his mouth and he finds the last remains of his energy to bring his hands up, feeling the blood spurting and flowing from his ruined throat. 

He chokes on his own blood, tears escaping his eyes. He can't breath. He can't think. He feels underwater. Everything is sluggish, everything is muted. His head feels like it's going to explode, the pressure so high and strong. His vision blurs, Alby's face stripping out of focus.

He thinks of Thomas. He thinks of his warmth and his smile and his laugh. He thinks of the nights they've spent together, wrapped in each others arms, kissing and relishing each other in long-lasting love.

He thinks of how this is going to ruin him. In his last moments, Newt wonders if Thomas regrets biting him now.

He hears a distance, desperate roar before Alby's weight is being taken off his chest and everything is going black. 

Newt welcomes the darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN, DUN, DUUUUUUUUUN!
> 
> leave kudos and comments pwease! <3


	10. chapter ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the wait. i went back and did some editing and added some additional moments. i still don't feel happy with this chapter, and i think i have left a lot of things unsolved, but i don't have the time or the talent to fill in the plot holes.
> 
> also, i really wanted to have Newt gain his limp during the fight and little droplets of this chapter devoted to him recovering from that, but the idea didn't really take off. i might come back and change it later on.

Newt has no idea where he is as he stares into the darkness. All he can see, all he can feel is a blanket of nothing surrounding him in a void. Slowly, like a volume dial turning up, consciousness creeps closer. Sounds that originally felt miles away begin to echo louder and louder, becoming clearer till he can actually point out the muffled voices and beeps of heart monitors, not that they really need them to detect the pulsating rhythms of the heartbeats around him. He is consciously aware of the pain thrumming through him, his bones aching and skin almost tingling with a aftermath of wounds. He isn't sure what is wrong, but his throat feels weird when he tries to swallow and that is when he finally realises he is awake.

Cracking his eyes open is almost an instant regret when the bold brightness of an overhead light shines harshly into his eyes, blinding him momentarily. Jerking his head to the side, he blinks away the white spots dancing in his vision, and that is  when he noticed the mop of brown, tousled hair at his side, resting by his hipbone and loose hand around his own.

He cracks a smile that feels weird and tight on his still half-unconscious face. He is about to run a hand through Thomas' hair when he notices the ghastly paleness to his skin, the bruises like purple half moons staining his under eyes. Newt frowns, worry gripping him when someone new is suddenly by his side.

"How are you feeling?" Teresa asks, and she looks strangely seriously concerned. She too looks tired, her shoulders slumped as if she's been carrying bricks of 12 hours straight.

"I—" Newt begins, but his throat croaks and physically hurts. It's so dry, raw and sore like someone has shoved sand paper down it. Teresa seems to notice, because instantly she grabs a small plastic cup, bringing it to Newt's lips as if she knows he'd be too weak to hold it himself.

"Thank you," Newt croaks gratefully, voice less hoarse. He tries to keep it quiet, not wanting to disturb Thomas.

"You're welcome," Teresa nods. She leans forward, hands reaching for his throat. She suddenly stops, meeting his eyes. "Do you mind?"

Newt faintly shakes his head. "N-no."

Teresa nods stiffly and proceeds to peel back what Newt suddenly realises is bandages. The memory floods back like a crushing wave and Newt physically flinches, jerking the whole bed completely. His vision is filled with Alby jumping towards him, fangs bared, eyes bled a dangerous and unusual red, his long, thin claws swiping towards his throat. Newt remembers the white hot pain, an explosion of excruciating panic flooding his system before everything blurred into black.

"Calm down," Teresa says, her face filling his vision and chasing away the imaginary Alby. She looks him dead in the eye. "You're fine, you're safe now."

Newt takes a deep, shaky breath. Nodding vaguely.

"Your throat is healing. It's taking a while, but I guess the same applies to vampire in which a wound from an alpha takes longer to heal. You should be dead, essentially, so there's that too."

"How long have I been out?"

"A day and a half. You're lucky your alive, if it wasn't for the bond you have with Thomas, you'd be another dead body right now," Teresa says, and Newt feels his breathing hitch. That was a long time for something to go wrong.

"What. . ." Newt licks his lips, clearing his throat. "What happened?"

To Newt's surprise, Teresa smiles. It was small and almost fragile, but it is there and shockingly soft. "We won," she says. "After Alby attacked you, Thomas kind of jumped him, knocking him out rather quickly. I'm pretty sure he would have killed him if Minho hadn't dragged him off. Of course, Thomas had figured out they were being controlled, so we've got all of your. . .uh,  _friends_ , locked up downstairs. Jorge and Thomas had mentally decided that killing them when they weren't even aware of their actions was. . . inhuman."

Newt nods again. He blinks a few times, chasing away the drags of fatigue gripping his core. He's tired, but so freaking relieved that his pack have been saved. He doesn't know what he would have done if he's woken up to find them all dead. They're assholes, but they are family at the end of the day.

"Who— how many?" Newt asks, stomach twisting with dread. "How many did we loose?"

Teresa's eyes drifts as he speaks, she looks suddenly distant and nervous. She opens her mouth, but the words spoken aren't her own.

"Too many," Thomas says, and Newt didn't even realise he was awake.

He's sitting up, and he looks even paler in the fresher light. Newt barely has a chance to open his mouth before Thomas is standing up, turning away and walking away all together.

Newt would be lying if he said he isn't hurt. But he is also confused, and very concerned because something must be awfully wrong for Thomas to be so dejected.

He looks to Teresa, and she sighs heavily.

"We lost Chuck,"

The three words struck Newt harder than Alby did with his claws. He doesn't process it. He  _couldn't._  It was  _Chuck_ and—

"He saved Thomas, jumped in front of him when the hunter shot at him. He. . . we couldn't save him,"

Newt feels a awful lump in his throat. Thomas is probably drowning in his own guilt. Newt suddenly feels the growing urge to be with Thomas, the bond inside him pounding like a stuttering heart.

Newt sits up quickly, his vision swims and his head pounds to a steady throb but he ignores it. "I need Thomas," he says. "I need Thomas. . . I—"

"Hey, hey, hey," Teresa says in a rush, she presses her hands on to his shoulders, pushing him back down into the bed. "You need to rest, you haven't recovered yet—"

"But Thomas! I need to—"

"What you need, is to rest. Minho will be with Thomas, okay? The last thing we need is Thomas blaming himself for you hurting yourself," Teresa says, her voice slow and calm and Newt feels suddenly exhausted. Sleep is nagging at him, pulling him under dizzying-ly quickly. He feels his eyelids begin to close as Teresa arranged the pillows behind his head.

"I- . . ." Newt starts, but his tongue feels like lead, heavy and solid in his mouth. His head is spinning, thoughts blurring with one and another. The last thing he sees, the last thing he remembered is the heartbroken look on Thomas' face before he left. And then all is black again.

*****

When Newt wakes again, he knows something has changed.

The bed beneath him isn't as hard and the swell of the pillow is curling around his head softly. There's a strong smell that lightens his senses, breathing in the scent of himself and Thomas instead the pollutant stench of hospital and medicine. He feels lighter, so he cracks his eyes open and his assumption is confirmed.

He's back in Thomas' bedroom, the strong smell of their scents winded together eases Newt from where he had initially tensed. He swallows, feeling the scratch in his throat, but it feels much better than before. Hesitantly, he lifts a hand and feels along his throat, finding no sign of bandage or even a scar. At least he's healed properly.

"How are you feeling?"

The sudden voice makes Newt jump, his tired body going rigid as he shoots into a sitting position. He feels his claws slip through, his control slightly impaired and he momentarily wonders how long it had been since he ate. He relaxes at the sight of Thomas. He is slumped in the chair in the opposite corner of the small room, limbs curled and looking oddly small. From where Newt is, he can see the slight pallor of the other males skin. Newt frowns.

"I'm fine," he replies. "Are you okay?"

Thomas only replies with a short nod.

Newt sighs. "Come here." he says, motioning to the empty side of the bed next to him. He craves the touch of Thomas' skin, the soft, smooth warmth that had surrounded him nights before.

Thomas says nothing as he gets up, moving silently around the bed and pulling back the sheets. He slides in beside Newt, and the blonde is about to roll into the others chest, to wrap his arms around his waist and pull him close, when Newt notices the blossoming bruises littering Thomas' ghastly white skin that is visible from beneath his baggy t-shirt, the paleness up close makes Thomas look sick, almost translucent. The purple smudges under his eyes have darkened since Newt saw him briefly in the hospital and Newt is suddenly swarmed with worry.

"Thomas, you're not okay," Newt says, tone heavy and filled with bone deep worry.

Thomas shakes his head. "I'm fine—"

"No, Thomas! You're not. Oh—  _God,"_  Newt sits up fully, cupping Thomas' cheeks beneath his palms. He strokes his thumb across the white skin, lightly brushing over a bruise that is like a watercolour smudge across his jawline. How did he not notice these sooner? "Why aren't you healing?"

Thomas sighs, closing his eyes. The action makes him look so much more worn down, his cheeks gaunt under Newt's hands. "Vampire wounds take longer to heal. That's. . . that's why your throat took longer than normal."

"It shouldn't be taking this long," Newt says, and he feels his chest sink. Thomas looks so vulnerable and tired. Newt wants to do anything he can to help. "You should be fine, I'm fine now. Why. . . why aren't you?"

"The hunters had silver bullets," Thomas shrugs. "Probably still in my system."

"Thomas," Newt says, a warning. He knows Thomas is lying to him, and he doesn't even need to listen to the stutter in his heartbeat. The brunette isn't even trying to look like he's telling the truth, the lies shine through the big, sad whiskey eyes. "You need to heal. You-" Newt cut himself off, finally realising. "Thomas, you need to let yourself heal."

"I can't," Thomas whispers. "I've been to worried and I—  _shuck_ , I  _can't_."

"Everyone's okay, you have nothing to worry about now," Newt says, and he continues to stroke Thomas' soft cheeks, wishing for the normal pale, but healthy colour, of his skin to come back instead of the stark white that reminds Newt horribly of a hospital room.

"Yes, I do!" Thomas suddenly snaps, wrenching away from Newt's hands. His face is tense and shoulders shaking. "Nothings okay, Newt. Nothing! I have to worry. I have so much to worry about because Gally is still in the shucking infirmary with wolfsbane poisoning and we're running out of medicine. Jorge is running himself out of his mind because Brenda won't wake up and I thought you-" Thomas breaks off, his voice cracking and tears welling in his eyes. His lip shakes, and he suddenly looks more like a small child than the wolf Newt has come to know. "I thought you were  _dead_ ," Thomas chokes a sob. "You w-wouldn't wake up and Teresa didn't know how to help and—"

Newt breaks him off by pulling the shaking boy into his chest. Tremors wrack Thomas' body, shaking his bones so roughly Newt is scared he is going to break apart at the joints. A choked, heart breaking sob escapes the boy tucked into Newt's chest, and Newt feels his non-existent heart crack and shatter. He runs a hand through Thomas' slightly greasy hair, and runs the other one up and down the wolfs back, feeling the knobs of his spine just along his fingers. They never used to do that, and Newt realises with that thought that Thomas hasn't been taking care of himself.

Thomas continues to cry brokenly, and Newt begins to wonder how long Thomas has been holding this in. He is always so strong, so hard headed and the past few weeks, as Newt knows, have been more than stressful and he can only imagine how much this has all weighed on Thomas. Not only that, but the loss and fate of Chuck has probably hit Thomas harder than Newt had originally thought.

"It's okay," Newt says, voice hushed and soft. He does his best to comfort his mate, wondering how Thomas could have had this bottled this up for so long. "It's gonna be okay now, I promise, Tommy. Everything is going to be fine."

"I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't have made it." Thomas whispers, and he sounds so  _broken_  Newt almost cries with him.

"Well, I did," Newt said instead. "I'm here, Thomas. You saved me, and I'm not going anywhere."

*****

Newt's throat is completely healed by the next day, but he doesn't move. Him and Thomas lay in his bed all day, wrapped in each others arms, pretending the chaos outside the room doesn't exist. While Thomas sleeps and rests, his head cushioned on Newt's stomach, the vampire reads the books Teresa drops in for him, the hand not holding the book runs through Thomas' hair. Minho brings them food, failing to hide the smile he makes at the sight of them.

The next day, Thomas is up before sunrise and back as it's rising, coming in with a fresh mug of blood just as Newt blinks his eyes open.

"Oh," Newt groans, scrambling up into a sitting position and taking the mug from Thomas' hands. "Thank god."

Thomas laughs, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He's still more pale than normal, but other than the tired bruises under his eyes, he's almost completely healed. Newt has given up on pestering him. He knows Thomas is drained, mentally and emotionally. A werewolf's healing has a lot to do with their mental and emotional health along with their physical. Thomas will heal when he's ready, on all levels.

"You're so dramatic," Thomas muses, but he's still smiling.

Newt jugs down the liquid in the cup, eyes rolling. He hums, licking his lips when he's finished. "That was so good."

"Sorry I didn't get it sooner," the brunette apologises.

Newt rolls his eyes, grabbing Thomas and pulling him to lay down beside him. "Don't be stupid, Tommy. It was one day."

"I know, but—"

"No  _buts_ ," Newt growls playfully. He presses a kiss to the tip of Thomas' nose. "You have nothing to apologise for."

Thomas smiles, closing his eyes and pressing himself further into Newt. He connects their lips in a short but sweet kiss.

"I'm gonna head over to the infirmary today, see if Jeff and Teresa need help," Thomas says, resting his forehead against Newt's.

"Don't stress yourself, please," Newt whispers. "It's not your job to make sure everyone and everything is okay."

Thomas laughs softly. "It's always been my job. What are you doing today?"

Newt swallows thickly. "I was gonna. . . gonna go down and see my old clan. I should. . ." he sighs, "I should speak to them."

Thomas nods, their foreheads still pressed together. "Probably, but if you don't want to today, you don't have to. I don't even know if they've gotten all the poison out of them yet, and if they have, Jorge's not planning on letting them go for a while."

"Didn't think he would," Newt scoffs. "I just need to speak to them."

Thomas nods again, "I get it," he presses another kiss to Newt's lips before he's rolling off the bed and standing in one swift motion.

Newt flops back on the bed, throwing an arm over his face.

"Hey,"

He removes his arm to see Thomas looming above him, grinning. Newt returns the grin, reaching up and planting his lips into Thomas'. The kiss goes on so long their lungs are burning and they're desperate for breath when they separate.

"Get up, you lazy ass," Thomas whispers against his lips, before he's moving away and making his way to the door.

Newt whines, rolling onto his side. "Don't leave me!"

Thomas laughs at him as he leaves, closing the door softly behind him.

Newt gets up half an hour later, throws on a pair of trousers and one of Thomas' soft cotton shirts before exiting their shared bedroom and heading down the corridor. He hasn't been down to the dungeon since he was moved into his own room almost two months ago. He can still remember the cold stone walls, the lack of windows, the only light source being a single, swinging lightbulb hanging from the ceiling where Minho always sat outside his cell.

He remembers his way down: through the last door at the end of the corridor, down the spiral staircase and through the heavy metal door. He stops when he gets to it, the only thing separating him from his old clan is a thick stripe of metal.

He swings it open slowly and just like before, it's dimly lit and cold. A completely different atmosphere from the world upstairs, where it's bright and warm, even on raining days. Upstairs, where there is sound and people and smells. Down here, it's silent and quiet, the only smell being the unwashed bodies on his clan that sit and lay in the locked cells.

Minho sits on the chair in the centre of the narrow hallway. He looks up when Newt opens the door and nods at him, rising from his chair and passing Newt as he leaves.

"Don't let them out, Greenie," Minho murmurs at the door. "Understand?"

Newt nods, swallowing thickly. It was never part of his plan to let his clan go.

"Good luck," the wolf whispers, closing the door behind him.

There's barely a moment that passes before Harriet - and Newt is surprised he can recognise her in the low light - coming face to face with the bars of her cell.

"Newt?" She whispers. "Is that you?"

Newt smiles sadly, finally stepping away from the door. "Yeah. Yeah, it's me."

The three single words was like a cup of fuel to the flames. All of them were up, standing at the bars, saying his name.

"Newt?!" Sonya cries, her voice standing out above them all. Newt rushes towards her, taking her hand that she's extended through the bars, reaching for him. Tears roll down her cheeks. "Oh god. You're here. You're. . . you're okay!"

"I'm fine, Son," Newt replies, smiling slightly. "I've been okay since I left."

"You need to let us out," Sonya says. "Please, Newt. Let us out. We can't stay here. The wolves. . ." her face falls, fear coming clear. "Have they hurt you? Have you been here this entire time? Oh, my god! Newt, have they been torturing you?"

"No!" Newt jerks away from the bar, pulling his hand away from Sonya's roughly. "No, no no  _no_. They haven't tortured me! They're nice, Son. They're a family—"

"They've brainwashed you, kid," Alby says, and Newt almost seethes. Red eyes and rage flash in his mind. He walks away from Sonya's cell, stepping further down the hallway to the neighbouring cell where Alby stands, hands clasped tight around the bars. "What the hell have those monsters put in your head?

"Nothing," Newt snarls. "They are not monsters! They are  _people_. And those  _people_  have given me the best possible view of the perfect life I could have ever wished for. They have shown me the concept of family, of loyalty and love and care and kindness!"

Alby scoffs, shaking his head. "You're brainless, Newt. You're sounding like you're mated to one of them."

"Funny," Newt laughs bitterly, coldly. "Because I am."

Alby's face falls, replaced by the coldest, most glaring expression he's ever worn. "You're what?"

"His name is Thomas," Newt replies. "And he is the most amazing, brave, and kind person I have ever,  _ever_  met. And I love him, with all of my heart."

"You don't have a heart, Newt," Alby snaps. "You're a damn vampire! We're cold-blooded killers! We  _despise_  werewolves! They are the bane of our existence!"

"The only reason why I am alive is because of Thomas!" Newt shrieks, loosing his patience. "The only reason why all of  _you_  are alive is because they were smart enough to realise you were being mind controlled and were humane enough to knock you out instead of kill you there and then. So before you start cursing them, just remember that they are the only reason your shucking ass is still alive!"

Newt can feel the heat in his cheeks. The burning red of his rage and anger.

He was ashamed of his clan. He was ashamed of his species.

"Newt," he turns to his sister, who said his name so softly and sadly. "Why are you saying this?"

"Because it's true!" Newt exclaims, throwing his hands up. "You guys are so blinded by history, history that  _someone else_  said that makes us believe we can't get along with wolves. They are just like us! We should be banding together, forming alliances against the hunters - the  _real_  enemy! Remember, the guys who brainwashed _you!_ "

Alby snarls at him, and Newt snarls back, louder and nastier. He's done with these games. His pack are a shame.

"Newt, you need to break the mate bond," Sonya says. "You don't need to stay here with them. You can come home with us. We can help—"

Newt shakes his head, laughing. "You don't get it. None of you do. I  _want_  to stay. I  _want_  to be mated to Thomas, and there's no way to undo it even if I did. The bond is for life."

"You sealed it?!" Alby shouts, and Newt knows what he means.

He nods, jerking his chin up. It's a lie, of course. Him and Thomas haven't fully sealed the bond because they haven't had intercourse. But either way, their bond is there, and Newt feels Thomas everyday, in his neck when he's hurt, in his heart when he's happy.

"You disgusting—"

"Save it," Newt snaps, holding a hand up to silence his old clan leader. "This is coming from the leader who was going to sell me for an alliance."

Alby back pedals, "If you come home with us, you won't have to go. You won't need to get married—"

"Oh, and that just makes it okay!" Newt feigns a smile and a cheerful tone. He drops the smile and stares at Alby, deadpanned. "Get this through your head, Alby. I'm staying, and never forget that  _you_  are the reason I ran away."

Alby rolls his eyes. "I wasn't actually going to make you—"

"Oh! Well that would have been  _great_  to know before!" Newt shouts. He shakes his head, taking a deep breath. He's getting no where like this. "It doesn't matter now. I'm mated to Thomas, I'm part of this pack and I  _am_  staying."

And with that, he turns and makes his way back to the metal door. He's done talking. He's said what he needed to say, and he's heard what he's needed to hear: his clan are still thick as shit.

"Newt!" Sonya cries, but he ignores her. He doesn't want to speak to her.

He bursts through the metal door and slams it shut so hard he feels the walls shake with it, the metal trembling with small vibrations as he leans against it and lets out a breath.

He pushes off the door, taking the stairs two at a time and bursts through the top door, almost bumping into Minho.

"Woah, shank. Slow down," Minho says. "Say all you needed to say?"

Newt nods, letting out a heavy breath. "Do you know where Jorge is?'

"Yeah, he's in his office," Minho replies, frowning in confusion as Newt marches away quickly. "What do you need from Jorge?"

"Don't worry!" Newt calls behind him as he hastily makes his way down the hallway. He can feel the flush of his cheeks, the shake of his hands. He feels overwhelmed, but he needs to do something before he calms down. He needs to make something clear to himself.

Frypan is wiping down the dinner tables when Newt walks through the canteen towards Jorge's office. He pauses outside the door, swallowing down his anxiety and knocking with a balled fist.

"Come in," Jorge's muffled reply is Newt's go, so he slowly opens the door and steps inside.

The alpha is sitting at his desk, eyes bloodshot and jaw clenched. He doesn't look angry, and Newt is shocked to see the alpha looking so defeated as he sits slumped in the large chair, a crystal glass of some dark liquid sloshing in the bottom. Newt knows wolves can't get drunk, so he doesn't know what the hell Jorge is trying to achieve.

It's then that Newt remembers Brenda, and how Thomas had said she was in the infirmary, not waking up. Jorge must be recked with worry.

Newt swallows. He regrets coming already. He's always been one for bad timing.

"Newt?" Jorge says, jerking Newt out of his thoughts. "Is there something you need?"

Newt nods, swallowing again. Jorge  _sounds_  recked.

"I. . . uh. . ." he takes a deep breath. "After everything that's happened, am I still welcome to stay here?"

Jorge stares at him a moment, long and blank. Newt braces himself for 'No'. 

But it never comes.

The alpha's eyes soften. "Of course. You're Thomas' mate, the pack love you."

Newt lets out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, shoulders slouching a bit. He smiles, "Thank you."

Jorge nods, taking a sip of his drink and staring at the glass.

He looks up at Newt when he doesn't leave. "Was there something else?"

"Does this make me pack?" Newt murmurs, and as soon as the words leave his mouth, he wants to flee the office.

Jorge sighs, flashing him a small smile. "You've been pack the moment Thomas bit you, Newt. But yes, to clarify, you're pack. You always will be."

"But. . . am I more than just Thomas' mate? Do you  _want_  me here?" Newt stresses. He doesn't only want to be welcome here because of Thomas. He needs to be here as himself.

Jorge nods. "You're a good one, Newt. You're different. But," he leans forward, tone dropping, "lets be clear. Just because you are welcome, does not mean your clan are. They are not pack, they are not welcome here."

Newt nods vigorously. "I know, I didn't assume otherwise."

Jorge nods, sitting back. "Good. I'm guessing you've spoken to them then?"

Newt nods. "Yeah. They. . . aren't impressed."

"With what?"

"That I'm mated to a wolf, that I want to stay here," Newt lists with a light shrug.

Jorge scoffs, shaking his head and taking another sip. "You're kind are diabolical, Newt," he says. "It makes me relieved Thomas bit you and not one of  _them_."

Newt smiles. "Thanks, I guess."

Jorge nods, mirroring his expression with a more tired smile. "Your welcome. Now, if we're done here," he begins to stand up, "I'm going to head back to the infirmary."

Newt nods, backing up and going to the door.

"Thank you, Jorge," he says, so genially and serious. "You could have banished me with the rest of them, but you didn't. So thank you."

"I could have, but I'm pretty sure Thomas would have killed me, or chased after you. And I can't lose Thomas anymore than Thomas can lose me."

Newt nods, opening the door.

"Plus," Jorge adds, "I think you're starting to grow on me."

Newt grins, chucking softly. "Can I get that in writing?"

Jorge rolls his eyes, rounding the desk. "Get out of here, Hermano. Go be with your mate."

Newt walks with a weight off his shoulders. He stands straighter, feels lighter. Jorge's words bring a new light in through the windows. When he gets back to his room, he's grinning from ear to ear.

He's  _pack_.

Newt had never imagined those words would filter through his mind, let alone him being  _happy_  about it.

The sound of the shower running has him breaking out of his head. He looks to the closed door where the soft sound of music is filtering through. From where he stands, he can hear the sound of the water hitting Thomas' skin, dripping on the floor and running down the drain.

As he cracks the door open, the strong smell of fresh apples and coconuts reach his nose. The whole room is steamy, the mirror above the sink fogged up with condensation. Through the fogged up shower door, Newt can see the outline of Thomas' figure: his broad shoulders and slender waist, his thin legs and lightly toned arms.

There's a small stereo in the corner of the room plays a gentle tune, to which Newt can hear Thomas humming quietly.

Newt slowly lifts his t-shirt over his head, placing it on top of the pile of Thomas' stripped clothes by the sink. He unbuttons his trousers, slipping them down and before silently kicking them off completely, followed by his boxers. He creeps towards the shower, sliding the door open with a muffled crackle, and steps inside.

He let out a heavy breath at the sight he sees. Despite Thomas facing away from him, Newt still admires the muscles moving under his milky white skin, dotted with brown moles. Newt feels an overwhelming rush of heat and want and  _love_  for Thomas in that moment. This is the boy he loves, the boy who is just as damaged and breakable as he is, who's been through more shit than anyone Newt knows yet still has the kindest and most purest soul and heart of all. The boy who he loves, and who is so undeniably beautiful that Newt wants to whimper.

Thomas looks over his shoulder at him, breaking out a smile as Newt steps inside. He turns around and Newt doesn't wait to press a kiss to his lips.

The brunette makes a soft sound when Newt depends the kiss, pouring all of his affection and devotion into the single action. He feels the warm water of the shower spec on him in small taps as the spray bounces off Thomas' shoulders. Thomas' wet body presses flush against him and Newt lets out a gasp.

When they break apart, Newt can help but smile. Thomas always makes him smile.

"Hi," he murmurs.

"Hey," Thomas says softly. "How was it?"

"It could have gone worse," Newt nods, breaking out a smile. "Hey, guess what!"

"You're real name is Peter," Thomas answers, so quickly and innocently Newt doesn't know whether to frown or laugh.

"What? No!" Newt says, shaking his head. He grabs Thomas' hand, rubbing his thumbs over the bony knuckles. "Jorge said I'm pack."

"I already knew that," Thomas smiles, tilting his head to the side slightly. "But congratulations, you're officially stuck with us."

Newt smiles, chuckling softly. Pressing another small kiss to Thomas' lips.

"I'm happy to be stuck with you," he murmurs.

Thomas laughs at him, kissing the tip of his nose before turning around and grabbing the shampoo. Newt frowns when Thomas hands it so him.

"If you're going to crash my shower, at least wash," he says, and Newt laughs, shaking his head. He joins Thomas under the spray of water, finally soaking in it. Thomas smiles at him, running his hand over Newt's flat and wet hair.

"You should be happy I'm showering with you," Newt replies, squeezing a glob of the apple-scented shampoo onto into his palm. When he puts the bottle down, he takes a slow step towards Thomas so their naked bodies are pressed flushed together, eyes level, mouths so close their breaths mingle. "We're saving water."

Thomas cracks a wide smile. "I'm sure the environment appreciates it."

"Damn right," Newt whispers. He runs the shampoo through his dripping wet hair and tries not to blush as Thomas watches, soft, half-lidded brown eyes so gentle and calm as they look at him.

He turns into the water to wash the shampoo out, and when he finishes, he meets Thomas' eyes again. The wolf is leaning against the steamy shower wall, a small, twitch of a smile on his bow-lips. It's then that Newt finally looks at Thomas, and is pleased to see most of the bruises and lacerations made to his skin from the fight are almost healed. Some of the bruises are still turning yellow, but most of them are simple shaded patches. Newt runs his hands over a the three claw marks that rake down Thomas' side.

_"Vampire wounds take longer to heal."_

He meets Thomas' eyes, hand still resting over Thomas' ribs, over the healing red lines.

"It's good to see you're healing," he murmurs.

Thomas ducks his head, taking Newt's hand off his ribs slowly and holding it his own. "I'm trying," he says.

Newt smiles, squeezing Thomas' hand, which is interlocked with his own. He looks at their hands for a while, listing the differences between them. Thomas' hands are large, but their thin and veiny, the bones of his wrists defined yet strong. His nails are bitten to the quick, chewed and mangled with a clear defence to anxiety and worry. He runs his fingers over his knuckles again, feeling the strong tendons underneath the skin.

He doesn't think he's ever paid so much attention to someones hands before. Maybe it's because he can also see the claws, emerging from his nails, thick and sharp. He can imagine the blood on them, the feeling and sound of them tearing through flesh and bone.

Thomas' hands have as much history as his eyes.

"Tommy," Newt starts, finally looking up. "What happened to the hunters?"

He feels Thomas stiffen, muscles going tense. It takes a long moment for him to reply, and when he does, his voice is small.

"We killed them," he says, sounding fragile and worried. "We didn't have a choice, Newt. They were killing us— their bullets had wolfsbane and—"

"Hey, shhh, it's okay," Newt interrupts, taking Thomas' cheeks in his hands and rubbing soothing circles when Thomas' breathing picks up. The last thing he wants to do is panic Thomas anymore. "I know you had to do it. It wasn't your fault, Tommy. It was self defence."

Thomas nods, closing his eyes and letting out a heavy breath through his mouth. Water runs down his face in beads, cascading down his smooth, milky skin. Newt is captivated by watching them.

After a moment, Thomas smiles, pressing his cheek further into one of Newt's hands. He opens his eyes and looks up at Newt through thick, dark lashes.

"We should probably get out," he whispers. "The waters gonna start running cold and if we use all the hot, we'll have to deal with Minho's whining."

Newt huffs a laugh. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Because you've become used to Minho's dramatic reactions to simple things," Thomas replies, leaning forward and kissing Newt.

It's just like all the other times, except this one flares something so strong in Newt he can't ignore it. He feels it rolling down his spine like a ball, giving him goosebumps. He gasps into the kiss, feeling himself get hot and flushed. He then deepens the kiss, pressing his entire body into Thomas', caging him against the wall.

Thomas' hands are on his waist, thin fingers digging into the flesh almost painfully. It sparks something in Newt, and he feels his cock twitch. The entire bathroom stinks of arousal, and Newt finally notices Thomas'.

Newt moves his lips away from Thomas', kissing from his mouth to his jaw, along the delicate line and down his throat. He can hear Thomas' pants, muffled slightly by the blood pounding in his ears. He kisses one of Thomas' collarbones, swiping his tongue along the hard bone that juts from underneath the stretched, wet skin. He trails peppery kisses down his chest, down his flat stomach, licking at the droplets rolling down his body.

When he reaches Thomas' crotch, he's on his knees. His hands cradle around Thomas' thin thighs, stroking the soft skin there as he licks his lips, opening his mouth and enveloping the wet heat of Thomas' erection. It's long and hard, red with the strain of his growing arousal. Thomas is breathing hard above him and when Newt looks up, he can see the wolfs head thrown back, against the bathroom wall tiles as he whimpers and pants through clenched teeth. Thomas' thighs shake and tremble as Newt runs his tongue over the slit of his dick, teasing mercilessly.

He's never given a blow job, but when Thomas chokes out pleas and gasps, he assumes he's doing a good job. He sucks, hot and wet and slippery. He can't pick up a stable pace, speeding and slowing without rhythm, but Thomas doesn't seem to mind.

"N-N-Newt. . ." He gasps, panting breathlessly. "I'm gonna. . . I'm gonna—"

Newt sucks harder, his mouth making wet noises as he slurps and sucks.

He rubs his hand up and down Thomas' thigh, a silent reassurance that it's okay. A moment later, Thomas is climaxing, his come hitting the back of Newt's throat. He tries to swallow it down, but he gags after a moment, tears sprouting in his eyes that he rushes to blink away. He swallows the rest, and soon Thomas is soft and pliant in his mouth as he lets go, sitting back on his hunches. He wipes his mouth to get rid of the dribbles and stands, smiling when he sees Thomas slumped against the shower wall, still catching his breath and looking at Newt with so much lust and arousal it makes Newt's own, neglected cock twitch.

Thomas grins suddenly, biting his bottom lip seductively as he grabs Newt by the shoulders, switching them to Newt is pressed against the wall.

"My turn," Thomas whispers, voice husky and raspy in Newt's ear, sending shivers down the vampire spine. Thomas bites Newt's ear, running his teeth along the shell before he sinks, licking a stripe up Newt's stomach, rubbing the pad of his thumb over Newt's nipple, causing the vampire to groan long and low. Thomas grins as him, swiping his tongue over the peaked bud, the action making Newt's cock strain. He's painfully hard now, already close to his climax - almost embarrassingly so.

"Thomas," he gasps, chest heaving. "Thomas— please—"

"So impatient," Thomas whispers, breath hot on Newt's skin. The vampire quivers and shakes as Thomas drops to his knees, licking the underside of his length. 

He whines, high pitched, his hips involuntarily jerking forward in desperation.

As the wet heat of Thomas' mouth envelopes Newt's aching cock, the vampire feels his knees tremble. He lets out a long, needy moan as Thomas laps his tongue over the sensitive head of his length.

"Tommy. . ." he breaths, hitching as he edges towards the edge. Thomas sucks harder, and Newt's hand finds it's way into the wolfs hair, gripping onto the strands and pulling. His hips jerk, jabbing forward and the need for more. 

He doesn't know how long he lasts, but when Thomas looks up at him through his thick, swooping lashes, eyes dark and pupils blown with arousal, it's like the final kick towards the edge and Newt is falling. He chokes on the breath in his throat when he comes, body trembling as it's overwhelmed with a bone-shaking orgasm, one like he's never experienced before.

His eyes roll back, jaw slack as Thomas swallows him down, not letting a single drop escape. He's still panting when the wolf stands up, swiping his thumb across his bottom lip.

"H-holy shit," Newt gasps, and Thomas grins, pecking him on the lips sweetly. 

"How was that?" He asks, voice slightly raspy. He's smirking, and Newt wants to kiss the smirk right off his lips, but he's too distracted, coming down from his high and eyes locked on Thomas' red, swollen lips.

"I. . . It. . ." Newt can't even form words.

"I'm gonna take that as a good sign," Thomas hums. He switches off the water. "Come on."

It's when they're drying with the towels that a thought comes to a halt inside Newt's head and he looks up in distress and mild panic. "Did everyone just hear us?"

Thomas looks at him for a long moment. "No. The walls are sound proof."

"Seriously?"

Thomas laughs at him. "Yes, I'm serious. Did you honestly think in a house of supernaturals, we wouldn't have some kind of privacy? All the bedrooms and Jorge's office are soundproof."

Newt lets out a relieved breath, slumping against the sink with his towel in his hand. "Oh, thank god."

Thomas rolls his eyes, wrapping the towel around his waist and opening the bathroom door. Steam pours out as Thomas enters the bedroom, grabbing his sweats off the bed and slipping them on. He chucks Newt's at him, and the vampire catches them with one hand as he follows the wolf out of the bathroom.

Half an hour later, the pair of them are laying on the bed. Newt sits up against the headboard, reading his book while Thomas' head sits in his lap, the wolfs body curled into a small ball at his side. Newt's fingers run through Thomas' drying hair as he switches from reading his book to gazing at the sleeping wolf's face, slack with relaxation. 

It's that night that Brenda wakes up. 

Minho comes barrelling in in the middle of the night, throwing the door open and switching on the light abruptly.

Thomas is jerking up in the bed from where he was curled around Newt's back, the vampire waking up more slowly.

"What's wrong?" Thomas asks urgently, wide away in an instant.

"Brenda," Minho replies shortly and ominously. "She's woken up—"

And that's all Minho has a chance to get out before Thomas is throwing back the covers and leaping out of the bed. Minho disappears from the doorway, most likely running back to the infirmary while Thomas grabs a shirt and throws it over his head.

He leans down and kisses Newt on the lips, telling him to go back to sleep. Newt selfishly does, but also because he feels this is something he isn't welcome to. This is between Thomas, Jorge and Brenda: the trio that started it all. They have something between them, something as thick as blood as and as strong as family, and Newt respectfully isn't part of that. He holds no jealously or anger as Thomas leaves him that night to go be with her, because he understands the worry that's been riddled in the wolfs mind all the while his pack mate has been unconscious.

In the morning, Newt gets up and grabs breakfast for Thomas and Jorge, taking it down to the infirmary where Teresa tells him they are. When he walks in, Jorge is hugging Thomas like his life depends on it, so Newt stays by the door until they break apart. And when they do, there are tears in Jorge's eyes.

"Your father would be so proud of you," Jorge whispers, and Newt really feels like he's intruded.

Yet he can't turn away.

Thomas looks down at his feet, and Newt knows he's blinking away the tears in his own eyes. He's learnt all the tricks and habits the wolf has, how he hides his emotion like a weakness.

"You're a good kid, Thomas. And though I will always love Brenda like my daughter, you will always be closer to me than a son," Jorge goes on. "You've got a heart bigger than a brain, but you wouldn't be you any other way."

They notice Newt a few moments later, and Newt gives them an apologetic smile as he crosses the floor and hands them both a plate of steaming hot, fresh breakfast. He hugs Thomas' side and asks how Brenda is, who seems to be sleeping peacefully on the bed. She looks well, slightly off colour, but Newt had imagined her worse.

"She'll be fine," is all Jorge says, but the response is said with so much truth and finality, that Newt doesn't bother to question it further. Things seem to be finally picking up, and who is Newt to question it?

*****

The next time Thomas wakes up at the crack of dawn to go and get Newt's blood, the vampire gets up with him, declaring that he wants to come. Thomas seems confused, but lets him anyways. They set off, and despite being up this early before, it feels strange now to walk through the house when no one is around, surrounded by the slow beating hearts of their pack.

_Their pack._

Newt smiles at the two words he mentally repeats to himself. He holds Thomas' hand as the wolf leads them out of the house and through the forest, where there's more silence, but a peaceful kind. The air is warm around them, the sun beginning to rise in the distance.

"We're going beyond the border?" Newt frowns. "Are we allowed?"

"We're not prisoners, Newt," Thomas laugh lightly at him. "We can cross the border as much as we want. We just have to be careful not to cross onto  _anybody else's_  land. You know what that's like."

Newt rolls his eyes fondly, squeezing Thomas' hand. "Didn't turn out so bad in the end."

Thomas stops, looking at Newt for a moment before turning to face him completely. He steps up, their faces inches apart. Newt can see the emotion swimming in his whiskey eyes, so raw and open.

"Do you mean it?" He whispers.

"Always," Newt replies honestly. "Tommy, I'm  _glad_  I came onto your land. Because it meant I got to meet everyone, I got to meet  _you_."

"You don't regret it?" Thomas asks, soundly horribly vulnerable. "Not a single bit?"

"Why do you keep asking if I regret things?" Newt frowns. "Why can't you trust me?"

"I do. I do trust you," Thomas replies quickly. "I just. . . I need to know. If you regret it, regret  _us_ , you might leave."

"I'm not going to stop repeating this to you, Tommy. I will say it again, and again. I'll say it a thousand times. The only thing I regret is how long it took me to get my head out of my bloody ass and see the brilliance you are. I regret all the shit and abuse I threw at you when it was the last thing you deserved. But I do not, and I never will, regret anything else. I don't regret running away. I don't regret coming onto your land. I don't regret you, or our bond. I will  _not_  leave you, Tommy. Ever."

By the end of his speech, Newt has Thomas' face in his hands, tears in his eyes and their faces are so close their lips are practically brushing. Newt closes the gap with a gentle, somber kiss to seal his words, to  _prove_  that he meant them.

They carried on walking after that, slower. Janson's is about ten minutes outside the border line. It's through more forest, but this time the trees are different. They're higher, thinner, and the growth of leaves and branches don't start until the very top of the towering trees. There is no grass, no bushes or flowers. The forest floor is just dirt and twigs, broken branches and logs. There is no sound of chirping birds or hawking sparrows. There is no movement, no noise or breath of wind. Everything is still, almost eerily so.

"Is it always like this?" Newt asks.

Thomas nods. "Yeah. Not the nicest of places to live. It suits Janson though, because he's creepy too."

"Isn't there anyone else you can get this from?" Newt questions. "I don't like the thought of you coming here alone every day."

He doesn't know where this protective side is coming from, but he can't help it. He cares about Thomas, and the bond goes both ways. Newt won't survive if something happens to the wolf.

Thomas smiles softly at him. "Janson is creepy, but he's harmless. He owes me, anyways. The only reason he's alive is because of the treaty we have. He's the only local supply around, too. So it's not like we have a lot of choice."

Thomas' words didn't sooth Newt's uneasiness at all, but he didn't press the subject further.

Eventually, through the thin, tall trees, a building comes into view. It's in ruins, the bricks chipped and falling away, there's large holes in the walls, the side one completely collapsed. Rubble is everywhere, debris and broken building littered all around the wasteland. It looks like the remains of a large building. It looks high tech, almost government-like. Newt has seen buildings like this in books and drawings.

"So what is Janson exactly?" Newt asks as they approach it.

"Janson used to be a scientist," Thomas begins to explain. "He's human, and he experimented on the supernatural, trying to make the ultimate creature, one with every pro of each species. He wanted to make the best weapon, but the foundation collapsed in on itself. The word got out, hunters attacked to kill the beast, the supernatural attacked in revenge for him taking their own to experiment on. His entire company was wiped, the building raided and everyone who was involved was killed, apart from Janson of course. He went underground, and I found him a few years ago when me and Minho came back to see what we could find beyond the border. He made a deal with us, for us to keep his existence a secret in exchange for ownership over him. Janson won't dare to step out of line, because he knows we can have the entire of the hunting and supernatural communities on his doorstep in hours as soon as his name gets out."

Newt whistles, "Bloody hell. So you trust him?"

"Not even a little bit," Thomas quips. "But he hasn't betrayed me yet."

Inside looks no better than the outside. It's dark, the floor cracked and covered in dirt and leaves. The walls are marked, some splattered with stains and chipped. Odd bits of furniture are left in places, upside down and abandoned. Newt feels chills on his skin, goosebumps lumping on the surface.

"Thomas—"

Newt cuts himself off when theres a sudden noise, loud and thundering through the echoing building. He freezes, hand grabbing onto Thomas' arm as the wolf in front of him slows to a stop.

A shadow moves in the corner, and then a figure is stepping out of the darkness, haggard and hunched.

"Janson," Thomas says. "Let's make this quick."

The blacked out figure approaches them slowly.

"How much do you want?" A raspy voice replies.

"Same as usual. Fresh," Thomas requests, voice solid and proud. His chin is high, heart steady. Newt wanted to prune at how strong Thomas was, how fearless he is.

The figure nods, still unseeable by the looming shadows from the small amount of light filtering in through the dirty windows and cracks in the walls. He moves back into the corner, disappearing from sight for a short while before he comes back.

As soon as he steps into the light, Newt stiffens. 

The man is middle aged, but he looks a thousand years older. He's as thin as a skeleton, the dirty, ripped clothes he wears are in strips and ruins. He's covered in grime, the last of his thin hair in mats. He has scars on his face, and he walks with a limp.

"Who is this?" He asks.

"Newt," Thomas replies shortly. "You got it?"

"As always," Janson rasps. He stares at Newt for a long moment as he passes Thomas the bags. "You the vampire?"

Newt looks at Thomas, who's looking down at the bags, flipping them over and running his fingers over them, inspecting them. Newt doesn't know what he's looking for, but the wolf proves not to be in any stage of giving him any help to answer the question.

He looks back up at Janson, who hasn't moved an inch ands small beady eyes are still staring at Newt.

Newt nods. "Yeah. I'm the. . . I'm a vampire."

Janson nods slowly, eyes never moving as they stare at Newt like a meal. The vampire has to fight the urge to squirm under the sharp gaze.

"Cut it out, Janson," Thomas says suddenly, looking up from the bags. "You're freaking him out."

Janson hums, "It was never my intention—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Thomas flips him off, turning around and gently pushing Newt back the way they came. "Pleasure doing business with you, Janson."

"You too, Thomas," Janson calls after them. "See you tomorrow."

"Like clockwork," Thomas mutters, and then they're stepping out of the building and back into the woods.

"So, that's your blood supply?" Newt asks after a few minutes of them walking in silence.

Thomas looks at him and grins. "No, he's  _your_  blood supply."

"You're right. He is creepy," Newt declares.

*****

That night, they float lanterns in the gardens for the wolves they've lost in the fight with the hunters. 

Newt stands on the porch, pressed against Thomas' side with the wolfs arm curled around his waist, holding him close. They drink jugs of Gally's moonshine, blinking away the tears of the fallen pack members.

Thomas is quiet, and understandably so. He had admitted to Newt hours before that the guilt of Chuck's death was sitting on his shoulders like a thousand bricks, piled up unevenly, unsteadily and every time Thomas tried to change it, to move it, to  _get over_  it, he could feel the bricks shake and topple, falling apart. Newt held him as he sobbed and shook, breaking apart in Newt's arms like he had the morning Newt woke up for the second time after the fight.

Now, Thomas stands straight. He watches with clear eyes as the lantern he released, glowing softly from the burning candle inside the floating cave, drifts up in the black sky. Night has fallen, the stars shining above them as golden glows float up towards them.

Newt squeezes the hand on side, and Thomas looks down at him with warm, haunted eyes. Newt smiles, placing a soft, small kiss on his lips.

"It's not your fault," Newt tells him again, something he's been repeating so many times since the day started. "Chuck chose to jump. He chose to save you, Thomas. It's not your fault. You don't deserve this guilt. Chuck was proud of you, he still is and he always will be."

Thomas smiles, ducking his head. His eyes glisten with fresh tears.

"He looked up to you so much, Tommy," Newt goes on. "I've only been here a few months and I saw it. You were his closest friend. You were like his brother. I know there is no point telling you to stop feeling guilty, because I know it's part of you to take on the blame of things that aren't your fault. But I will never stop telling you how much Chuck loved you, and how what he chose to do will never be on your hands."

Thomas' chin wobbles as he licks his lips, closing his eyes and breathing shakily through his nose.

Newt kisses his cheek, keeping his face against the warm skin.

A moment later, Minho and Teresa are walking up, hugging them both.

By the end of the night, they're all relaxed, Gally's drink filtering through their veins like a second blood. They sit, slumped on the porch steps are the night rolls on, as everyone else goes to bed and sleep. The four of them stay.

It was the best kind of goodbye.

*****

Newt's old clan leave a day later. Newt walks them to the border with Jorge and Thomas, making sure they leave.

Just as he's standing on the border, the entire of the clan already across, Alby turns around and tells Newt he is forbidden from entering the clans land again. Newt wants to say something, but he doesn't quite know how to react. Sonya beats him to it, storming up to Alby and saying he can't shut Newt out, can't cut him off from everyone just because he is angry.

Alby stares at Newt's sister for a long moment before he's nodding, turning back to Newt and repeating that he's banished from the Night Walkers land, but he is welcome to see any member as long as it's off the clans soil. Sonya smiles at him, and Newt manages to find it in himself to flash his sister a small smile in return.

They leave, turning their backs on him once again, but this time Newt feels no need to chase after them.

He interlocks his finger's with Thomas', feeling the warmth seep into his own skin as they walk back to the house.

*****

The following week, it's Thomas' birthday.

Newt doesn't even know about it until lunch time when Teresa tells him to help her in the kitchen to make the cake. Of course, when Teresa tells him in Thomas' birthday, the vampire storms out of the dining hall to find the wolf.

He finds him in the garden, sitting in the grass with Minho, looking like they're having a heart-to-heart, but Newt takes no mind. He stomps through the grass and kicks Thomas straight in the knee.

Thomas yelps loudly, looking up at Newt like he's lost his mind. "Newt, what the shu—"

"Why didn't you tell me it was your birthday?" Newt accuses.

Minho gets up then, muttering something under his breath, but Newt ignores him, continuing to stare at Thomas coldly.

Thomas looks at him tiredly, sighing as he rubs his knee, "I didn't think it was a big deal—"

"A big deal? Thomas, you made me look like an idiot! We're bloody mates and I am the only one who didn't know it was your birthday!" Newt exclaims, throwing up his hands.

He doesn't notice Thomas climbing to his feet until the wolfs face is inches from his own.

"Hey! Hey, I'm sorry, okay?" Thomas rushes quickly, large brown eyes staring into his so deeply it makes Newt's knees go weak. "I didn't tell you because I don't want to celebrate it, okay? Everybody always makes a huge deal out of birthdays and the attention makes me anxious—"

"Tommy. . ."

"—and with everything thats been going on, with the hunters and the attacks and all the trouble with your pack, the last thing people need to be stressing over is organising me a party and—"

"Thomas!" Newt interrupts, taking a long breath before barrelling on. "I think a party is the  _best_  kind of thing we all need. We need something to celebrate, we need something  _good_. And what's better than celebrating everybody's favourite wolf turning eighteen?"

Thomas mirrors Newt's smile, taking his hand in his own.

'I'm sorry," he repeats, looking down at their hands.

Newt rolls his eyes, hooking a finger under the wolfs chins and lifting his face. He places a kiss on his lips, humming when Thomas eagerly deepens it. Newt moves so his body is flushed against Tommy's, gasping into the wolfs mouth when his cock jerks against Thomas' crotch.

"Hey!"

The shout has them jerking apart, Thomas tripping over his own feet and stumbling onto his ass in the grass. They both look over to the house, panting and out of breath. Arousal is thick in the air.

Teresa stands on the porch, hands on her hips, looking incredibly unamused. 

"Enough with the porn in the gardens. You," she points at Newt, "are meant to be helping me make a cake, and you," she stabs a finger in Thomas' direction, "are meant to be with Minho so he can keep you distracted while we plan your surprise party."

"Not much of a surprise, T," Thomas replies.

"Shut it, Tom! Go be with Minho and keep being the oblivious shank you usually are," Teresa snarks. She looks back at Newt. "Well? Are you coming or what?"

They watch as she turns and disappears into the house.

"Yes, mom," Thomas mutters under his breath, and Newt can't help by letting out a loud snort. Thomas grins at him, climbing to his feet and planting a short kiss on Newt's lips before sprinting off with the gracefulness he didn't possess when he fell on his backside in surprise minutes before.

Later, the entire garden is lit by fairy lights, weaved through the poles of the porch and hanging from the roof. Light were spiralling up the trunk of the trees, there are camping chairs set around the large bonfire thats burning with large, glowing flames. Frypan, Teresa and Newt made a large amount of food, basically a huge feast while Gally brought more moonshine.

Children run around, playing and laughing while everyone else use Thomas' birthday as an excuse to celebrate and drink away the memories of the last few weeks.

Newt stands on the porch, jug in hand as he participates in some small talk with Frypan and Jeff, the pair of them talking about how Newt has only been eating real food for a month when something catches Newt's eye.

Across the garden, on the other side of the large, burning bonfire, stands Thomas and Minho. His mate is laughing, head thrown back and chest shaking. He's holding a half-empty jug of moonshine, cheeks flushed from the heat. He's relaxed, almost the most relaxed Newt has ever seen him.

He shakes his head at something Minho says, laughing again and finally, his eyes meet Newt's. In the light of the fire, Thomas' eyes look orange, blazing and sizzling. Newt feels like if he looks close enough, he could fall right into the swimming pools of whiskey and drown happily.

It's like the world falls away then, leaving them the only people walking the earth. All the sound, all the commotion, all the smells disappear and suddenly it's Newt and Thomas, and them two only. Thomas smiles, and it's like the firing gun to get Newt moving.

Newt is oblivious to everything and everyone else as he steps down the porch stairs and crosses the grass. Thomas reacts a moment later, walking away from Minho like he doesn't exist, rounding the glowing fire and meeting Newt on the grass.

Thomas' smile grows as they approach each other.

"Hey," he murmurs, arm winding around Newt's waist and resting on the small on his back as he kisses him with warm lips.

"Hey," Newt whispers when they break apart, lips still close. "I feel like I haven't seen you all night."

Thomas huffs a small laugh, "Yeah, that's because I've been too busy sorting out Minho's dramatic love life. Who would have guessed he has the hots for Teresa?"

Newt reels back. "What?"

"I know," Thomas laughs, taking a gulp of his drink. "That's all I've been hearing all day and now he's to scared to tell T anything in case she rejects him."

"That's kind of sweet," Newt shrugs.

Thomas smiles at him. "You know what else is sweet?"

Newt cocks his head to the side is reply.

"That you wrote 'Tommy' on my birthday cake," Thomas grins, biting his lip.

Newt rolls his eyes. "That wasn't me," he lies.

"Really? 'Cause you're the only one who calls me 'Tommy'."

Newt. . . Newt doesn't know who to respond to that.

Thomas giggles at him, fucking  _giggles_  at him, and the sound goes straight to Newt's brain, fogging it with arousal. He wants to hear that sound again.

"Do you wanna get out of here?" He asks quietly.

Thomas nods, looking at him with so much warmth that Newt doesn't think he'll ever feel cold again.

They walk, hand in hand, moonshine sloshing in their mason-jars through the dark woods, away from the house and the lights and the noise. 

Eventually, they find themselves at the edge of the lake again. Thomas leads Newt towards the dark cabin on the river side, stepping up the wooden porch and opening the door.

"It's unlocked?" Newt asks - he had always thought it was locked and reserved.

"Of course it's unlocked," Thomas snorts as he steps inside, Newt following with a lax jaw.

The vampire frowns as Thomas shuts the door behind them. "What if someone breaks in?"

"Who is there to break in? There's no one on this land apart from pack," Thomas explains as he flicks on the lights, the entire room coming into view.

Newt's breath is blown away.

The cabin is nothing like he's ever seen before. It's small and cosy. There's a large bed in the centre of the back wall, low and covered in pillows and fluffy blankets with thick, cream rugs either side of the bed on the floor. On the wall with the bed is a long window, high and thin so light comes through but no one can physically look through. The roof is shaped in a pyramid, the rafters of the buildings skeleton visible as loads of bare lamps hang down, each of them lit and glowing, bringing a gorgeous golden hue into the snug room. On either side of the bed, the two side walls are made of full length windows, floor to ceiling. Tree's and greenery stand on the other side of the clear glass.

"Wow," Newt murmurs, as he stares in astonishment.

Thomas' hand rests on his lower back for a moment before he's moving away, going to the windows to pull the large, blood-red curtains shut, shutting the world outside away. 

The wolf approaches Newt again when they're closed, smiling softly. In the warm light from the bulbs, Thomas looks like a painting. His pale skin glows, looking soft and touchable. His hair, that is standing on end due to his persistent habit of running his finger through it, is unruly and fluffy, making him look unconditionally adorable. He walks slowly towards Newt, taking both of the vampires cold hands in his own warm ones.

"So, what'd you think?" Thomas whispers, lips inches from Newt's. "Wanna spend the night here?"

Newt answers by closing the gap between them. He links his fingers through Thomas' as they kiss with as much passion and love as all the times before. He slowly backs Thomas towards the bed, captivating his lips in his own, searching his mouth with his tongue and listening to Thomas' quiet, shy sounds and hums as he does so.

The back of Thomas' legs hit the bed and they both fall onto the bed, Thomas flipping them over almost instantly so he's looming over Newt, their lips never separating. Newt's hands search Thomas' body, running across the warm skin under his shirt. Thomas' hands stay on his waist, caging him in as he kisses Newt with everything he has.

When they break apart, Thomas looks down at him like he's hung the sun, eyes filled with such clear adoration and affection that Newt can only hope his show the same. 

"I love you," Thomas whispers, and suddenly, the world has stopped turning.

The three, simple words make Newt's heart sore.

He doesn't waste a moment to reply, "I love you too."

That night, they secured the bond.

In the morning, when the sun rises between the trees and everything is still and quiet, they lay in the cabin, wrapped in the soft sheets, their feet tangled at the bottom of the bed as they indulged in each others bodies, declaring their love in both words and actions.   
  


 

 

**—** **_the end._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S FINISHED! It's actually finished! I'm actually kind of sad this story is over, it's probably one of favourites I've written and I'm so disappointed in my ending chapter, I feel like it was such a flop compared to the others but I don't have the motivation in me to change it.
> 
> Anyway, thank you so so much for all the kudos and sweet comments. I appreciate every single one of them with all my heart. You are the sweetest, most kind humans alive and I love you all for every kind thing you've left me <3
> 
> Come say hi to me on tumblr or wattpad!
> 
> tumblr: bananabishka  
> wattpad: stilesroden


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